


It Runs in the Family

by jetpacks



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Squips (Be More Chill), Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Borderline Personality Disorder, M/M, Post-Canon, Trans Michael Mell, i wrote the first draft almost two years ago lolllll, this was written pre-off bway so dont @ me for inaccuracies from bway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-12-15 00:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetpacks/pseuds/jetpacks
Summary: Jeremy's been through a lot over the years- bullying, failed crushes, the works. What he doesn't expect is to receive a letter from his estranged mother the summer after senior year inviting him to her house in Nacogdoches.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, my more dedicated readers might actually recognize this fic! I wrote the initial version for a now-ex friend of mine, but I've since taken out everything she had influence over, and am publishing it as just a normal fic, after some revisions, of course- as like I said- the first draft is almost two years old now! Wow, time flies.  
Also if you see any weird things like wrong names it's because I originally converted this to a real novel with OCs but then was like... eh do  
I really feel like dishing out a bunch of money to get it published. Just let me know! But I think I caught everything.  
Anyway... enjoy!

_ “Remember to be gentle with her, Jeremy.” _

_ Eight-year-old Jeremy Heere has a cat named- very originally- Mittens. He pets the old, grumpy cat hard, running his small hands through her fading black fur while she sits and takes it- barely. “She likes it!” Jeremy protests. “Right, Mittens?” _

_ Mittens just swishes her tail. _

_ “Well, alright,” his father says, warm smile full of contentment and affection as he looks down at his son (and his cat). He places his hand on the scratchy white carpet and moves it quickly from side to side, and Mittens extracts herself from Jeremy’s grip to pounce on his slightly stubby fingers. _

_ Jeremy grins. “Let me try!” he says, and mimics his father, sweeping the carpet in long, rapid motions. Mittens looks back and forth, trying to keep up with his hand, and wriggles the back of her body in anticipation. In a few moments, she strikes, managing to trap Jeremy’s hand with the help of her still-sharp eyesight. “Ow, hey!” Jeremy squeaks at the pain of the cat’s claws poking into his skin, but he’s laughing anyway. _

_ And then the garage door begins to open. _

_ Jeremy's father’s smile falters. “Oh. Looks like your mom’s back from the office.” _

_ Jeremy nods wordlessly as he continues to play with Mittens. _

_ “Uh… Jeremy, your mother had a bad day at work, so… make sure to be extra special nice to her, okay?” Jeremy's father says, and it sounds normal, but underneath, it’s a beg, a plea. _

_ Jeremy’s hand stills on the floor and is promptly jumped upon by Mittens. “Oh. Okay,” he mumbles. Being extra special nice… isn’t his strong suit. Even when he tries to be pleasant, he always ends up snapping or being rude. Given his mother’s propensity for angry outbursts, which even his mild-mannered father manages to set off, they’re not a great combo, especially on days like these. _

_ When the garage door closes again and his mother grunts a greeting to his father, who had gone to meet her, Jeremy calls out, “Hi, Mamma.” There’s no real response. He sits on the floor for a long moment, watching Mittens curl up into a ball and expose her soft white stomach, then picks her up in his slender arms and holds her tightly to his chest as he trudges down the basement stairs to go to his room. There’s little fanfare as he plops her on the bed and jumps on beside her. On his bedside table, partially read, is a short book-  _ Fudge-a-Mania,  _ by the eternal Judy Blume- and Jeremy picks it up, hoping to find some entertainment in it. He prefers video games to reading, but Blume is a good author, and he’ll take anything right now. _

_ He’s good for about an hour, Mittens lying at the end of his bed as the occasional sound of a page turning mixes in with her purring, but soon enough, the shouting starts. Jeremy doesn’t really remember a time without shouting. It’s not fun, but he supposes it’s normal; isn’t every family like this? Parents fight all the time on sitcoms. As long as he has Mittens or a video game or a good novel, he’s fine, but then he’s turning the last page of the book, and he pauses, fingers stilling. The shouting- bordering on screaming now- fills the gaps in his unoccupied mind, and he presses his hands to his ears and tries to ignore it. It’s a guilty wish, but he longs to be deaf, just for a day, just for an hour. _

_ Trying to block out the shouting isn’t working, so, unsure of what else to do, Jeremy wriggles over to the end of his bed and pets Mittens, running his hands roughly down her spine. He scratches her soft, fluffy stomach, sticking his hand under her loaf-like form, and she starts to growl lowly. Jeremy doesn’t take the hint, doesn’t want to, and then Mittens is clawing at him, kicking her back legs like a donkey against his prying hands and leaving red, irritated scratches on his pale skin. He hisses in pain, and Mittens hisses back in annoyance, then hops off his bed and runs out the door. _

_ “...Dumb cat,” Jeremy grumbles as tears prick at his eyes. _

_ The shouting upstairs continues. _

  
  


“Yo, Jeremy, are we packing the Cheez-Its, the Fritos, or both?”

Nine years later, Jeremy leans against the side of his best friend’s car, clutching a letter written in familiar, somewhat sloppy handwriting. The sun is pleasantly warm, typical for June, but there’s a chill that settles beneath his skin. “...Bring the Cheez-Its,” he says after a moment of thought. “We can leave the Fritos for Dad.”

Michael nods, slips the box of crackers through the open car window onto the passenger’s seat, and tucks the bag of chips into the crook of his elbow. “Done deal. Did you get all your stuff in the car?”

Jeremy had packed lightly: six shirts, five pairs of pants, seven pairs of underwear (you never know what’s gonna happen), his laptop, his phone, chargers for each… and the letter.

_ Dear Jeremy. _

He clenches it tighter in his fist. “Yeah,” he says, and Michael nods.

“Mmkay, gimme a sec to put these back and grab a couple water bottles, and then we can get going.” He tosses the keys to Jeremy, who catches the warm metal in his free hand after nearly dropping them a couple times. “You can let yourself in in the meantime.”

Jeremy does so, wordless, numb. _ I’m going to see her again.  _ He turns the thought over and over again in his brain like he has been for the past 48 hours.  _ I’m really going to see her again.  _ It’d been five years since his mother walked out on him and his father, since she packed her bags and left in the early morning on a sunny March day. Why now? Why now would she contact him?

_Dear Jeremy. ___  
_1803 Glenbrook Street, Nacogdoches, TX. 75961.__  
_ __Dear Jeremy.

He props his feet up on the dash. Michael won’t mind the scuff marks; he’s said before that he likes the way it makes the car seem worn, vintage. It doesn’t, really, just makes it look a little dirty, but hey, if it makes him happy, then whatever. 

Jeremy nearly shrieks in surprise when Michael opens the driver’s side door with a  _ clunk  _ and scoots into his seat behind the wheel. “Oh, shit, sorry,” Michael says, a note of guilt in his voice. He usually taps at Jeremy’s window to let him know he’s coming in, but he must be feeling odd today, too; things are slipping through the cracks.

Jeremy shrugs. “‘S okay.”

Michael is silent for a moment, not moving to grab his keys from the center console where Jeremy has left them. He glances up at Jeremy, then away, and sighs. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he reminds him, and Jeremy braces himself for the “You’ll be a total wuss if you don’t, though,” but it never comes.

It’s not like Jeremy  _ wants  _ to be doing this. He hadn’t really expected to see his mother again until maybe his wedding day- if it ever came- and even then, it was wishful thinking. No, wishful isn’t the right word. He doesn’t particularly want her in his life. He’s doing just fine without her, although his father certainly wasn’t at first. Jeremy just wishes the exit wound hadn’t been so grotesque.

God. This is really happening. He’s going on a road trip to see his  _ mother.  _

Before Michael can voice his concerns about his silence, Jeremy says, “N-no, uh, it’s fine. I’ll live. I’ve got my best friend, after all.” He gives Michael a wobbly, unconvincing smile.

“...Right.” Michael leans over and rubs Jeremy’s upper arm gently, and Jeremy sighs at the touch. “You can do this.”

Jeremy’s smile solidifies a little. “Thanks,” he murmurs. “We can, um… we can go now, if you’re ready.”

Michael nods and grabs the keys from the cup holder. With a quick twist of his wrist, he turns on the car, and it springs to life beneath them. A spark of anxiety goes through Jeremy- this is the start of something enormous, truly- and, while it begins to slowly fizzle out as Michael pulls out of the Heeres’ driveway, it never really goes away.

For a long while, the two of them are wordless. The only sound is the car humming as it moves quickly along the blacktop and the tapping of Michael’s fingers on the steering wheel, a habit that he keeps up even when there’s no music playing. On that note- “Hey, Jeremy, you wanna… listen to anything? I downloaded a few episodes of that space podcast you like.”

Jeremy shrugs. “...I’m good,” he answers. He just needs some time alone with his thoughts. He raises his eyes to peer out the window, observing apathetically the trees passing by, leaves glimmering in the sun. He folds and unfolds the letter, creases it, tears at the edges. Never trust Jeremy with a piece of paper.

_ Dear Jeremy, _

_ Please don’t throw this letter out right away. I’m sure you’ll want to, because of the way I abandoned you and your father, but please, hear me out. _

_ I want to see you again. You’re my son, the only person that I really love, and I want to apologize for all these years of silence. I just needed some time away from you and your father, and from my job, and from New Jersey. But it’s been too long. I miss you. I don’t regret leaving your father, but it’s been hard living without you. I want you back in my life again. _

_ If you would come visit me in Nacogdoches, it would mean the world to me. I understand if you don’t want to, but please think of me and how I feel. Either way, know that I love you, Jeremy. _

_ Love, _

_ Mom. _

What a load of bullshit that is. Sure, Jeremy resents her for leaving, but that’s not the heart of the matter. It was everything that lead up to her leaving. Eighth grade is bad enough already- the kids are cruel, teachers fearmonger about the trials and tribulations of high school, and your identity and self-image are changing by the day- and she certainly didn’t need to make it any harder on him. But she did.

It’s probably selfish to think about it that way. After all, his father was the one who got the brunt of her fury; Jeremy only got in  _ big  _ fights with her once in a while, and much of that was the silent treatment anyway. Still, having a rocky home environment is right up there on Jeremy’s Top Ten Complaints About Middle School list. It sorta kinda really sucked.

Maybe that’s why he’s going: to give her a piece of his mind, to tell her off for making his life hell and for making his father afraid even though he rarely, if ever, did anything to warrant it. Jeremy almost hopes that’s why he’s going, because it’s better than the alternative: that he’s going because he loves and accepts her. 

...Scary stuff.

Jeremy tears his eyes away from the window eventually, and it occurs to him that Michael is looking at him out of the corner of his eye, glancing at him every once in a while as his eyes flicker from the dashboard to the road and back again. “What is it? What?” Jeremy asks, annoyed beneath his numbness.

“You just look… absorbed in something, that’s all,” Michael answers, and shrugs, although Jeremy can tell he’s not as nonchalant as he seems. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Jeremy doesn’t respond at first. Should he tell him? Of course he should know, he’s his best friend, but… he’s not his  _ therapist.  _ It’s not like it’ll help. It’ll probably just be burdensome, because he himself is burdensome. Still, he answers, “I, um… I don’t think I like my mother.”

Michael blinks in mild surprise at the revelation. “Really? When she left, you ran to my house sobbing.”

That’s true. That day was a blur- he remembers waking up, asking his father why he looked so sad and where his mother went, because it was Sunday, after all, so she should be home, and then most of it bleeds into the deep recesses of his mind, and he can’t quite claw it up. But he remembers, too, Michael holding him in his arms, hugging him while he shook and sobbed and whined for his mother like an idiot baby. Michael, who had always been there; Michael, who always would be, like he promised that day.

“I guess that was just shock,” Jeremy says. “I wasn’t expecting it, is all.” By all accounts, though, he should have; their family was falling apart.

Michael nods. “Fair.”

With that, the ball is in Jeremy’s court again. “I mean… she made my life kinda shitty. She’s the reason I’m like  _ this.”  _

_ Like this.  _ Now, that wasn’t just in his head. No, it’d been going on since he was, what, fifteen? Sophomore year? That sounds about right. At first it could be explained by normal teenage stuff. High emotions, turbulent mood swings, being unsure of who you are and who you want to be- everyone experiences that during puberty. But normal kids didn’t show up to class with neat little cuts on their wrists, or stay awake beating themselves up and breaking down at the slightest mistake, or systematically drive away any new friends they managed to get with their constant need for validation. That was a Jeremy issue.

His therapist, who he’d been seeing since his mother left, had offered him ways to cope, but that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted  _ answers. Google, what the fuck is wrong with me?  _ Well, the Internet did have information for him, that’s for sure. He wasn’t sure if he could trust it, but it was a start.

Chronic feelings of emptiness? Check. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment? Check. Identity disturbance? Check. Recurrent self-mutilating behavior? Double check.

_ “I, um… I think I have borderline personality disorder,” Jeremy had said to his therapist one Friday afternoon.  _

_ His therapist hummed in acknowledgement. “What makes you say that?? _

_ “...Well, for one, I fit the DSM requirements,” Jeremy said flatly. “Is that not enough?” _

_ “Typically, we don’t diagnose personality disorders in those younger than 18,” his therapist explained, “since the symptoms might just be normal hormonal responses.” _

_ Jeremy sighed, frustrated, and flicked his eyes away. He’d never particularly liked his therapist, not that he’d ever bother to get a new one. Turning his gaze back, he pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a mess of razor-thin cuts scattered across his forearm. “Are  _ these  _ normal hormonal responses?” _

_ That gave his therapist pause. “They can be,” he said eventually, “especially with your history of depression. Nothing you’ve shared with me so far indicates a probably cause of any personality disorder.” _

And that was the end of that- until, of course, Jeremy had opened up about his childhood. Apparently being surrounded by screaming and having to walk on eggshells half the time counts as trauma. Who’da thunk? He didn’t even know it wasn’t  _ normal,  _ or at least close to normal. So now here he was, toting around a preemptive BPD diagnosis, because of his shitty, overreactive mother. Fantastic.

Back in the present, Michael says, “Ugh. See, man, I told you it wasn’t normal.”

If it were anyone else, the comment would’ve gotten under his skin, but Jeremy can and will acknowledge that Michael is just smart about these sorts of things. He almost thinks of him as something of a guardian angel. Almost. “Yeah,” he says quietly, unsure of what else to say.

Michael doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. Finally, he offers for a second time, “I can turn back. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No, I… I want to,” Jeremy assures him. He’s not lying, really. Sure, he’s anxious, because it’s been five years and he doesn’t like the woman in the first place, but he wants to give her a piece of his mind, if nothing else. “...I think I want to tell her how I feel.”

Michael nods and moves a hand to rub Jeremy’s shoulder while he continues to steer with the other. “...Love ya, dude.” Jeremy looks up, eyes wide and face prickling at the affection, but before he can say anything in response, Michael asks, “Wanna get lunch?”

“It hasn’t even been that long since breakf-” Jeremy glances at the clock on the dashboard. “Wait, it’s 2:00 already?”

“Time flies when you’re angsting about your mom,” Michael says. “Now, how ‘bout it? There’s that little deli in D.C. that you liked.”

Jeremy chuckles, and there’s too much love to be platonic in his voice as he turns his head and asks, “What, you remember that? That was five years ago!”

“I’m your best friend; of course I remember these things. ...Ya dingus.”

Just because it’s like him to get emotional over absolutely nothing, a wave of fondness comes over Jeremy, knocking him sideways, and he wants to reach over and punch Michael in the arm or something to reestablish his manliness, but he’s driving, so all Jeremy can do is sit there and look at his profile as he hums and taps at the steering wheel to music only he can hear.

Jeremy is midway through his pastrami sandwich- up there in the quintessential rankings in the city, he’d read while looking up the address- when Michael asks, “Is there, like… something you wanna do on this road trip? I mean, this doesn’t have to be four solid days of weird car conversations and then five days of intense mom-bonding, or whatever. Like, what do you wanna  _ do?”  _

Jeremy hadn’t really thought that through. He’d barely been able to think about anything but his mother for the past few days, which was an unwelcome change from barely thinking about her at all since the tenth-ish grade. He squirms uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh… I dunno,” he answers. “What do  _ you  _ want to do?”

Michael worries his lip, considering Jeremy’s question as he holds his roast beef sandwich au jus in one hand. “Hell, I dunno. We’re going to be passing through the, uh, the George Washington and Jefferson National Forests tomorrow. We could go on a hike.”

Jeremy sticks his tongue out a little. “You know I don’t have the muscles for a hike, man. I’m a twig, as you so often like to point out.”

“Because it’s true!” Michael says, and makes an ‘okay’ sign with one hand. “See that hole? I could fit your whole arm through it, swear to God.”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in, jerk.” Jeremy rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “But, like, I can’t go up in the mountains and shit! My legs will give out. I have no muscle mass.”

“Hey, if you get tired, I’ll carry you.” Despite it having the tone of a joke, Michael’s words are oddly sincere. He gives Jeremy that big, charming smile of his- Jeremy’s tried to replicate it in the mirror; it looks unnatural on him- and continues, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. It’ll take your mind off of all the bullshit.”

Jeremy takes a bite of his pastrami sandwich and smiles through it. After he swallows, he says, “Yeah, if you keep good on your promise,” and holds his pinkie out.

Michael chuckles and wraps his pinkie around Jeremy’s. As he shakes it, he says, “Anything for you, bud.”

_Dumbass. _Jeremy lowers his head to hide his reddening cheeks, chiding himself for getting flustered over the slightest touch. “Thanks, man.”

“No prob, Bob,” Michael says. “Hey, I’m driving you out to bumfuck nowhere to see your shitty mom, you think carrying your skinny ass is any issue?”

“Okay, okay, that’s valid,” Jeremy replies. “Look, like I said, I’ll pay for gas, and I can pay for lunch if you wa-”

Michael blinks, and an almost panicked expression comes over his face for a split second. “Nooo! No, no, dude, I’ll pay for it, don’t worry. Let me do this.”

Jeremy cocks his head in confusion, but dismisses the franticness, shrugging. “Alright, man. No skin off my back.”

Content, Michael relaxes, smiling as he rests his chin in one hand. “Good,” he says, simply, softly, kindly. It makes Jeremy feel tangled up inside, and he doesn’t appreciate that, thank you very much. Still, the knotting in his stomach almost feels good.

They don’t stick around in D.C. Back in middle school, spring break of their seventh grade year, their school had hosted a trip there- kind of expensive, but all four parents decided to spoil Jeremy and Michael and pay for it. Well, they’d had to pool their allowances for meals and souvenirs, but still, the lodging and bus ride were taken care of. The details aren’t important, though; the point is, Jeremy and Michael go ahead and skip the nation’s lovely capital. Michael had decided it was boring- he doesn’t really like museums- and Jeremy, of course, hates the crowds. They’re killer this time of year.

When they get back on the road again, Jeremy is surprised to find that some of the tension has been lifted from him. It’s amazing how much having lunch with his best friend/dumb gay crush can cheer him up; he’s done it every school day for the past thirteen and a half years, but he hadn’t really noticed the healing effect until today. 

“You wanna listen to some music?” Michael asks, glancing expectantly toward Jeremy. “We’ll be in range for the radio stations around here for a little bit.”

Jeremy straps himself in, a click sounding as he secures his seat belt, and nods. “Yeah, man. Will you kill me if I ask for a Top 40s station?”

Michael rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face as he says, “Go look one up.”

Obediently, Jeremy takes out his phone to do a little research, and, within a couple of minutes, he’s tuned the radio to 99.5 WIHT. As Michael pulls away from the curb and starts to drive, Jeremy puts his chin in one hand and leans against the window, frowning at the stream of commercials. Eventually, though, a song starts up: “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You” by Black Kids. The light rock of it floods the car and brings a bright grin to Jeremy’s face; he straightens up and turns his head to look at Michael.

“D’you remember the first time we heard this song?” Michael asks, a bright smile on his face as he looks at Jeremy from out of the corner of his eye.

Jeremy doesn’t have a good memory- aside from every time he’s ever embarrassed himself, listed both alphabetically and by category- but he does remember that. It was before his mother left- probably the summer before the eighth grade, if he had to put a date to it. They were sitting in Michael’s basement, listening to the radio on his moms’ boombox, and, although they usually only listened to the stations with older songs- Jeremy had inherited his love of 80s hits from his mother, and Michael had a soft spot for 70s songs- they’d decided to change it to one of the various Top 40 stations. Jeremy had adored the song immediately; the words made him giddy- he was always crushing on someone or another, and songs about pining were too relatable not to love- and Michael could agree that it was a pretty good jam. “Better than all the other crap on the radio nowadays,” he’d said, and Jeremy had punched him lightly in the arm for sounding like an 80-year-old coot, or perhaps one of the hippies who smoked weed by the stairs at Middle Borough High, where they were doomed to spend their teenage years.

It was a warm memory. Some memories, Jeremy muses, are cold; the memory of running to Michael’s house that one March day, even in the midday warmth, was- hypothermic, even. Some are hot, like the warm tears and blood rising to his skin as he chokes back a sob at his mother’s shouting- free of it, he’s free of it now, it’s okay- and the time on his thirteenth birthday when he was roped into hiking and his muscles were cramped; he swears to this day that he almost died. But that midsummer day, sitting there in the basement with Michael… that was a warm memory. 

He cherishes the warm ones.

“Yeah, man,” he answers finally. “That was a pretty good summer, huh?”

Michael nods. “Hey, it’s hard to have a bad summer. I mean, there’s no school; what else could you ask for?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great,” Jeremy says. “Gives you time for weird, life-changing road trips, or whatever this is supposed to be.”

“It’s life-changing if you want it to be.” Michael shrugs, as if they’re not talking about Jeremy’s fate. “There’s always something there if you try.”

Jeremy snorts. “I’m gonna hang out with you and chew out my deadbeat mom, how’s that gonna be life-changing?” 

“I always like a challenge,” Michael says, and grins a cocky grin that sorta makes Jeremy feel things.

“You gonna change my life, Michael Mell?”

“You know it, Jeremy Heere,” Michael answers, and honest to God winks.

Jeremy hates how much he loves him.

They arrive at Charlottesville, VA, in good time, around 6 in the evening. Michael would have gone longer, since he likes to drive, but Jeremy reminded him that they’d booked a room at this specific motel on this specific night, and changing the schedule makes him anxious as hell, just like most other things in life.

While Michael talks to the lady sitting behind the front desk to get them checked into the room, Jeremy heads over to the vending machine on the other side of the lobby, taking a five dollar bill from his wallet: $1 for Cheetos for Michael and $1.25 for a bag of sour gummy worms for himself, which leaves enough for a Pepsi for them to share. They’d given up caring about germs approximately 10 minutes after they first met, and none of their parents bothered to nag them about it anymore. 

After a few minutes and about a third of the gummy worms down, Michael approaches Jeremy and throws him his room key, which hits him square in the forehead before falling to the ground. “...Dude. Full hands,” Jeremy says flatly.

Michael gives a snort of laughter. “Yeah, but your face, though.”

Jeremy sticks his tongue out. “Fine, I’m not giving you your Cheetos, then. And the Pepsi is all mine.”

“Wait, the Cheetos are for me? Thanks, duder!”

“Not anymore,” Jeremy pouts, turning away from Michael. After a second, though, he tosses the small orange bag over his shoulder. “Nah, jokes.”

Michael catches it and kneels down to grab Jeremy’s room card, then drops the card over Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy manages to catch it despite the start it gives him, and, when he turns back around, Michael is grinning. “C’mon, man, let’s go. Netflix awaits.”

Jeremy beams back at him, and, clutching the can of Pepsi in one hand and his gummy worms and card in the other, follows Michael outside and up to their room on the second floor: 210. “Whatcha wanna watch?” he asks as Michael slides his card in and out of the lock and opens the door for him. “Did we ever finish Parks and Rec?”

Michael nods. “Yeah, a couple months ago, remember? How about, uh… John Mulaney’s New in Town? I always forget that’s on Netflix.”

Jeremy brightens up at that. “Oh, hell yeah,” he says, immediately delighted at the prospect. “C’mon, dude. Let’s get our stuff.”

In a few minutes, they’ve dragged their suitcases to their small, one-bed room- they’re kinda too broke to afford anything bigger, and neither of them have any particular complaints, since they’ve slept in the same bed plenty of times before- and Michael pulls his laptop from his own while Jeremy plops down on the scratchy sheets. On second thought- he tosses off his tee and jeans, which fall in a mess in the corner of the room, then wriggles beneath the seats. 

After checking his email and social media- Jeremy can’t blame him on that one; he actually has quite a few online friends, and he hasn’t been able to talk to them all day- Michael sets up Netflix. He makes a move to scoot under the covers as well, but Jeremy stops him with a wave of his hand.

“Wait, no, take off your binder, Michael. It’s been over six hours,” he scolds, though he’s more worried than frustrated.

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine, dude, just-” Jeremy fixes him with the most disappointed stare he can muster. “...Okay, fine. Look away, or don’t, I guess.”

Jeremy doesn’t. Michael’s back looks pretty nice.

Michael pulls on a softer tee with some lyrics from a band Jeremy’s only vaguely heard of and a pair of fleece pajama pants- “How can you wear those in the summer?” “I’m stronger than you could ever imagine, Heere.”- and, after jokingly asking Jeremy for his approval, gets under the covers with him. “C’mon, get ready for some  _ real _ comedy.”

“Hell, yeah,” Jeremy says, stretching his long, slender arms. “This? This is gay culture.”

“God, you are  _ so  _ right.”

And things are alright for a while. They laugh, they… don’t cry, there’s really no crying in this situation, they fall asleep. Well, Michael does, anyway; he must be exhausted from driving all day, after all. It’s kinda cute, in Jeremy’s honest opinion. Here he is, probably supposed to be having some weird coming-of-age experience as he goes to see his asshole mother, but he’s just sitting here getting gay over his best friend. It just happens, alright? He can’t always focus on his… his borderline-abusive mother all the time, because if he does, he’s going to go insane, if he hasn’t already, and, oh, it’s really quiet in this room, isn’t it? Because Michael doesn’t even  _ fucking  _ snore, and the video is over, and the only noise is his frantically beating heart, and suddenly everything feels so… big.

He’s so small.

What’s he even doing here? What does he get from seeing her? Knowing how weak he is, he’ll probably just break down when he sees her again, because oh, God, he forgot how damn scared of her he is, how he never wanted to say a dissenting word or ask her for anything, so how in the hell is he gonna go down there and give her a piece of his mind?  _ Oh, Jeremy, you’re just going to say “I hate you for messing up my childhood” so easy like that? Yeah, likely story.  _ God, that’s pathetic.

An angry, stinging tear slips from Jeremy’s eye, and he tries to blink it away, but it’s already falling to the blankets, and he curses himself for that damn weakness he was left with. He hates how it lies in the center of him like rot, how he’s always going to have these huge emotions that stab him like myriad daggers to the chest when he’s all alone, alone, alone. He hates the insecurity, the instability, the way that the instant he builds up his walls, desperately trying to keep himself safe from his own feelings, they crack and crumble, and- God. Why’s she here again? Why’s she doing this to him again? Why’s she trying to ruin his life again? Most important of all, why on Earth should he forgive her? But she’s going to be hurt if he doesn’t, and it’s not her fault, she was just depressed, and-

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy rubs his eyes with the side of his hand, hissing at how it stings and only brings more tears. With a flushed, red face, he turns to Michael, who he must have woken up with his dumbass pussy crying. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he grumbles, and glances down at his lap, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “I’m just being stupid. It’s nothing. S-sorry I woke you up…”

“You’re not stupid,” Michael assures him softly. “Why would you be stupid?”

“Because this whole thing is stupid,” Jeremy says, voice guttural and strangled by phlegm and tears. “I mean, isn’t this the stupidest thing? Christ!”

Michael lays a warm, gentle hand on Jeremy’s back, just between his bare shoulder blades. “It’s not. It’s complicated, but it’s not stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Jeremy says bleakly, an empty echo. “I don’t know. Fuck, man, I hate this, alright? I just want this to be over. I can’t take- I can’t take so many goddamn days of this. I can’t handle four days of death row leading up to- to seeing her- I don’t want to see her- I never want to see her again, I think I’d be just fine with that, except-” He chokes on his tears for a second and whimpers instead.

Michael presses further. “...Except what?”

“Except I love her,” Jeremy whispers.

Michael frowns, cocks his head. “...You just said you didn’t like her.”

“It’s- it’s different!” Jeremy says, frustration rising in his voice. “I don’t  _ like  _ her, but I love her- for God’s sake, Michael, she’s my mom! I mean, it’s not like she was all bad. She did nice things sometimes! She really did! Do you remember when she bought me that limited edition 3DS just because? I mean, I mean, I mean-” He takes a deep breath, nearly a gasp. “If she was a bad mom, she wouldn’t do that, right? I mean, that was almost $200!”

Michael rolls his eyes. “If we’re counting love by money, then I must not love you all that much, ‘cuz half the time, all I buy you is snacks.”

“You bought me that Pokémon game for my birthday.”

“Okay, that was one time. Sorry I’m broke, by the way. You wouldn’t  _ believe  _ how many employers run drug tests nowadays.”

Jeremy shrugs. “It’s no big. But, um, back to my mom?”

“Right! Right, sorry, I got sidetracked.” Michael’s hand moves to Jeremy’s hair, and he runs his fingers through the soft curls. “Look. Just because she’s done some nice things, doesn’t mean she didn’t totally screw you over.”

“But she only yelled so much because she was depressed,” Jeremy protests weakly. 

“Yeah, and? So are you, dude, and you don’t yell at people for no reason.” Michael sighs. “Look, Jeremy. I know things are confusing. Just hang in there, alright? Remember what your therapist told you.”

Jeremy nods. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. He sighs the air from his weary lungs, then takes a deep breath through his nose, focusing on its movement through his chest. After seven beats, he slowly exhales it, and, although he hates to admit it, it does help him calm down a little. Why is that? It’s just oxygen.

“Feeling better?” Michael asks, voice hushed, after a couple minutes, and Jeremy nods.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “for waking you up, and stuff.” What a nuisance. 

Michael shakes his head. “Don’t worry. Remember when you woke me up in the middle of the night to ask me if I could go get you some Cheez-Its? I’m used to this stuff.”

Jeremy chuckles. “What? I like Cheez-Its.”

“I think I’d have to disown you if you didn’t.”

That gets a laugh out of Jeremy, a louder one, not so subdued. “Hey, thanks, Michael. ...For everything.”

With another shake of his head, Michael says, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m your best friend, remember?”

“...Yeah,” Jeremy says, still not convinced. 

Michael’s brow furrows at Jeremy’s tone. “C’mere,” he says, and, before he can say anything, Jeremy is enveloped in a warm hug, getting tears on the sleeve of Michael’s dark red tee. Tenderly, so so tenderly, Michael rubs Jeremy’s back, and Jeremy nearly melts into the touch.

“You make it so damn hard not to love you,” he says, but not out loud.

Breaking down and crying has left him worn out beyond belief, and, when his thoughts have calmed down enough, Jeremy lies back down, trying to get warm again under the threadbare blanket. He can’t tell Michael how he really feels, not now, not yet, but he manages to whisper, “Michael, will you, uh…” Shit. No backing out now. “Will you, uh, hold me?”

Michael smiles, eyes half-lidded, and nods. “I gotcha, bud,” he says as he scoots a little closer, slinging an arm around Jeremy’s narrow shoulders and pulling him to his chest, and-

Oh, God, he’s kissing his forehead. This is too much, too much, _far _too much. Jeremy could cry all over again, but he doesn’t, just smiles and smiles like an idiot. He still feels like garbage… but maybe more like recyclables. _You make me feel like recyclables, _he longs to tell Michael. _Wait. What the hell does that even mean?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Michael would be one of those trans people (like myself) who names himself something similar to his birth name for like, Easiness, and then realizes years later that he could have named himself whatever he wanted, like Dagger or Roswell, and been like, why the fuck did I choose Michael of all things? So if the stuff in the beginning seems trite, it's because Sometimes Being Trans Is Like That. and also because I wanted to make it like... simple/easy to understand and such.  
Also, feedback time: this fic is 12 chapters long, so posting once a week would make it take 3 months to publish. Which is a long time! Should I publish Mondays and Thursdays or is a once-a-week, three-month schedule alright? Vote now on your phones.  
ANYWAY, enjoy the second chapter!

_ “See? I told you there’s no way you would win.” _

_ Jeremy isn’t old enough to be good at video games quite yet; he’s only ten. He tries- and fails- to beat his best friend, Maya, as they play the fighting game that Jeremy had gotten for Hanukkah. “This is totally unfair! You’re only winning because you got your copy earlier than me.” _

_ Maya chuckles, sounding just a little bit like a demon. “Yeah, but you could’ve been practicing without me.” _

_ Jeremy has to concede that point. “Well, at least I spend time on things other than video games,” he teases; there’s no malice in his tone. _

_ Maya gasps, feigning hurt. “You’re just sad that I’m better than you.” _

_ Jeremy is about to shoot a catty remark back when there comes a noise from upstairs. He listens for a moment, then blanches.  _ Oh no,  _ he thinks,  _ not when Maya is here, don’t do that in front of her…

_ Maya cocks her head to the left and pauses the game. “...What’s going on up there?” _

_ Jeremy’s parents are arguing, because of course they are- if he’s hearing right, it’s something about how his father had asked a ‘stupid’ question about computers while his mother was in a particularly bad mood. Lovely. “They’re just fighting is all, no biggie,” he says, trying to keep cool. _

_ Maya blinks, then glances up at the ceiling as if to see through it. “Do they… do this a lot?” _

_ “Yeah, I guess,” Jeremy says, shrugging. “Why, what?” _

_ “My moms never fight like this,” Maya answers with a frown. “I thought parents were supposed to love each other.” _

_ “They do love each other!” Jeremy says defensively. “I mean,  _ we  _ fight sometimes and we still love each other.” _

_ “Yeah, remember when we fought over you hogging the blue crayons?” Maya chuckles at the memory. _

_ “Well, you like red the best now, don’t you?” _

_ Maya rolls her eyes. “That’s not the point.” She’s quiet for a long while. Then, “Do you wanna leave? Your mom is a little scary sometimes.” _

_ Jeremy thinks on it for a moment- the second part, that is. Is his mom scary? Aren’t everyone’s parents scary? “I mean, I guess she is,” he says finally. _

_ Maya bites the inside of her cheek. “Jeremy. Can we get out of here?” _

_ Jeremy hesitates another second, then nods. “Yeah, let’s do it. Should we go to your house?” _

_ “No, we can’t; my moms aren’t there,” Maya says with a sigh. “That’s why I’m here, remember? Technically, your parents are supposed to be babysitting me. I’m not even a baby!” _

_ Jeremy laughs, not making fun, just amused at Maya’s indignancy. “You’re old! You’re almost eleven!” _

_ “That’s right!” Maya proclaims proudly, puffing out her chest. “Now, c’mon, let’s go.” _

_ Of course, that’s easier said than done; they have to be silent and unseen. Jeremy’s room is in the basement, which means there’s not a door to the outside nearby, and so they’d have to tread past wherever Jeremy’s parents happened to be- a risky maneuver. _

_ They crowd up to the door, and, very quietly, very stealthily, Maya turns the knob and opens it a hair. Immediately, the voices become clearer.  _

_ “I just don’t appreciate when you use me as your fucking tech support after a long day at work-” _

_ “Well, I work from my computer, Cheryl, and it’s not as if I can ask Jeremy-” _

_ Jeremy flinches at the sound of his name.  _ Not in arguments, please not in arguments…

_ “Look up how to fix it your damn self if you can’t learn to be grateful.” _

_ “I said thank you-” _

_ “One ‘thank you’? After forty-five minutes of working my ass off to fix your piece of shit desktop?” _

_ Jeremy takes a deep breath and pushes the door open a little further. Ah- there they are, in the family room. They’re standing in front of the sliding glass door, so that negates that exit. He moves aside to let Maya see, and she nods. _

_ “We’re gonna need to be really, really quiet,” she whispers, “and sneak over to the front door. Is this door squeaky?” _

_ Jeremy thinks on it for a moment. “Not really,” he says, and shrugs. “Plus, they’re not really paying attention to anything but each other.” _

_ Maya nods sagely. “Okay. You ready?” _

_ Jeremy sighs, bracing himself. “Let’s do this.” _

_ Maya pushes the door open more, enough for them to escape the basement. As they do their very best to be stealthy, they manage to creep past Jeremy’s parents undetected, and, when they reach the front door, they breathe a unanimous exhalation of relief. After a moment, though, Maya frowns. “Oh no. Isn’t your front door really heavy and noisy?” _

_ Jeremy frowns, too, mirroring Maya’s expression. He’d completely forgotten about that. “...I guess it is,” he mumbles. “Do you still wanna try?” _

_ Maya worries her lip. “I think so, ‘cuz I don’t wanna stay here. Do you?” _

_ Jeremy shakes his head vigorously and says, “No way. Let’s try it.” _

_ Maya takes a deep breath and turns the lock, which gives off a resounding  _ thunk _ . The two of them hold their breath, eyes shut tight, but there’s no pause in the fight out in the family room. Jeremy takes the knob in both hands and pulls it open, and again, there’s no reaction from his parents at the long, conspicuous squeak. He grins at Maya, and she smiles back proudly. The two of them rush out the open door and into the afternoon sun. _

_ It’s the first time Jeremy holds Michael’s hand. _

“‘Morning, Jeremy.”

Jeremy blinks open his tired eyes to see his best friend/crush’s face inches away from his, to feel his arm wrapped around him. Oh, God. So last night actually happened. He can still feel the dried tears on his face.

It feels pretty freakin’ good, though.

Jeremy’s wide-eyed stare turns into a gentle smile. “‘Morning, Michael.” He’s blushing, sure, because this is on another level of embarrassing and weird, but he can’t help himself. 

All too soon, though, Michael is peeling away from him and rolling out of bed, scratching the small of his back as he stands up. “Hey, if I pick up your clothes for you and pack up all the other stuff, will you grab us some coffee?” he asks. “It should be complimentary.”

Jeremy stretches his arms, humming softly and then yawning. “Yeah, sure. Plain black for you, right?”

Michael nods. “And go ahead and hurt your stomach with all that creamer you so adore.”

“I’m not  _ that  _ lactose intolerant!” Jeremy protests. “Just a little.”

Michael rolls his eyes good-humoredly. “Right, sure, tell that to yourself in an hour when you’re complaining about your poor wittle tummy.”

“You’re a dick.”

Michael pauses for a second, then gives in. “...Maybe so. Anyway, I need my sweet black jet fuel, so, y’know…”

“On it,” Jeremy says, and salutes as he walks backwards toward the door, almost hitting it but turning around just in time. 

He  _ does  _ put an embarrassing amount of creamer in his coffee, Jeremy notes as he fixes his; the blackness of it fades to a medium brown, sickly sweet with the fake sugar he’s poured in it. Michael’s too hardcore for him- he’d taken a sip of his coffee once, and the only way to describe it is to say that his mouth went to Hell- bitter, bitter Hell.

Jeremy sips on his bastardized coffee on the way back to the room- careful on the stairs; he’s changing soon, but he still doesn’t want to ruin this shirt, it’s nice- and elbows open the door that Michael’s left slightly ajar for him. To his absolute delight, he’s met with one of the cutest things he’s ever seen, which he definitely doesn’t deserve.

Michael’s sitting there on the bed, knees pulled almost up to his chest, with a pillow on his lap that he’s resting his elbows and chin on as he types away at his phone. His face is pressed slightly into the pillow, and, God, you’d have to be there, it’s so precious- Jeremy smiles fondly as he places Michael’s coffee on the nightstand. “Hey, duder. What’s the haps in the blogosphere?”

“Dude, you sound like a sixty-year-old trying to be hip; are you  _ sure  _ you’re only seventeen?” Michael teases, and looks up at Jeremy with a smirk on his face. “Just telling the people in my group chat about our amazing exploits.”

“What, going to a deli in D.C. and calming me down from a borderline episode in an incredibly gay way?” Jeremy asks as he lays down next to Michael, resting his cheek on the hand of one bent arm.

Michael shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, I hope they’re entertained.” After a moment, Jeremy adds, “Uh, don’t add too many gruesome details.”

“Don’t worry! I just told them you got a little sad. They don’t even know why we’re road trippin’,” Michael says. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Jeremy raises his eyebrows. “Oh, so you’re my therapist now?” He snorts. “If you’ve got a degree, I don’t know where you’ve hung it.”

“Hug therapy is a real thing, and it doesn’t require a medical degree,” Michael says, faking sageness. “It was founded by Sigmund Freud’s less famous brother, Snugglemund Freud.”

That’s enough for Jeremy to crack up, putting his face in his hands as he laughs. “God, ya dingus,” he mutters, voice muffled by skin.

Michael just gives him a wide grin and grabs his hell coffee from the nightstand. “You gonna shower before we leave, or do you wanna do it tonight?” he asks.

Jeremy groans, closing his eyes and leaning back against the headboard. “Man, I don’t feel like it. I’ll take a bath tonight, I guess.”

“I really doubt whatever shit motel we stay at tonight will have a tub,” Michael says with a snort, and Jeremy groans.

“Maybe so. Whatever.” He finishes off his coffee, then asks, “There are some chocolate chip muffins down there, you wanna get some? Better than shitty convenience store food.”

“You take that back, convenience store food is godly,” Michael says, staring directly into Jeremy’s soul, but then laughs and continues, “Hell yeah, I could go for some muffins. C’mon, bud.”

The thing is, Jeremy muses as he walks down to the lobby again with Michael- after getting dressed, of course- that there’s something going on between them. Sure, he’s usually oblivious, because low self-esteem and stuff, but, like… there’s gotta be Something There, right? Right? He can’t just be imagining it. Bros don’t just… kiss their bros’ foreheads like that while they’re holding them so they can feel safe and loved while they fall asleep. That’s definitely gay.

On the stairs, Michael’s fingers brush against his, and it jumpstarts his heart, sends gooseflesh crawling up his arms, and, wow, he’s really in deep, isn’t he? And how cruel is it that this is the time Michael’s reciprocating love chooses to manifest, as if Jeremy didn’t have so much other shit on his plate? Jeremy would love to kiss him then and there (okay, maybe take him out to lunch first), but… priorities. For once, he’s not thinking with his heart. Gotta focus on Mom.

Except, it’s  _ really  _ hard to focus when Michael gets a little smear of chocolate on the corner of his mouth when he eats, and Jeremy is dreadfully tempted to wipe it off with his thumb and lick it off like he’s seen cool, smooth guys do in all those rom-coms he and Michael watch when they get too bored to function. Shit. “Can, uh, can we go?” he chokes out, and Michael looks up at him with a cocked head.

“What’s the rush?” he asks. “I didn’t think you were excited about this trip.”

“I, uh…” Jeremy searches desperately for an excuse. “Well, I just wanna get to the forest. I’m looking forward to our hike,” he lies. You can’t just tell someone you want to get moving because you’re having super embarrassing gay thoughts about them.

Michael shrugs. “That’s fair. I think it’s gonna be fun- I checked the weather, and it’s supposed to be, like, super nice.”

“Not too hot? You know I can’t handle the heat,” Jeremy says as he gets up from his chair, pushing it back beneath the table, and drops the wrapper from his muffin into the garbage can nearby. 

“It’ll be about 70 degrees out. That good enough for ya? Kobe!” Michael tosses his wrapper basketball-style into the garbage can and grins when it falls in perfectly.

Jeremy rolls his eyes, like a liar- the toss was actually pretty impressive. “C’mon, Bryant. Checkout times end soon.”

Michael looks down at his watch and grimaces. “Wow, we really did sleep in, huh?” He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, then walks back outside after brushing muffin crumbs from his shirt; Jeremy trails after him.

Jeremy silently thanks God that he was too painfully out of it while packing to put too much in his suitcase; Michael grunts as he carries his own stuff down the stairs because he brought his clunky laptop and a few heavy books he said he would read but definitely wouldn’t, not to mention his guitar. As Jeremy lifts the suitcases into the car, cursing Michael for packing so much, Michael goes inside again to hand in the room keys and finish checking out.

After closing the trunk with a loud  _ thunk,  _ Jeremy leans against Michael’s car and stares up at the sky. The sun’s out, and it’s only a little cloudy; it’s perfect weather, really- warm, but not  _ too  _ warm. He leans his head back against the heat of the metal that’s been left out in the sun and relaxes, a small smile spreading across his face as he closes his eyes. If nothing else, at least this trip has been aesthetically pleasing.

He’s not sure how long Michael’s been standing there, but when Jeremy cracks open one eye and looks to his left, there he is. “Oh, hey, Michael,” Jeremy says, and chuckles sheepishly. “Were you waiting for me?”

Michael shakes his head. “I didn’t want to bother you. You looked happy.”

“I was. I mean, I am,” Jeremy says, and smiles wider. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m set if you are,” Michael answers with a nod. “Wait, though.” He spreads his arms out invitingly and gives Jeremy an expectant look. 

Jeremy doesn’t hesitate; he needs all the hugs he can get. Michael is bigger than him, both in height and weight, so his bear hugs are more like being held; they can’t be replicated by anyone, even his father. But Jeremy has to pull away soon, regretfully, has to keep his eyes on the road in front of him. He has to be strong. He knows he’s weak, but that makes the urge to be tough even more urgent and primal: this is something he has to do.

First, though, the forest.

“It’ll be good for you to take a break,” Michael says after about an hour and a half on the road. It isn’t as silent as it was the previous morning; there’s less nerves, more laughter, and even some music. Day two: so far, so good.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Jeremy shrugs. “Either way, it’s good to have some fresh air.”

“That’s the spirit!” Michael smiles at Jeremy, then turns back to the road. “Plus, you get to spend some quality time with your good friend Michael.”

Jeremy snorts. “I’ve spent over 24 hours with you, Michael. We  _ cuddled.  _ I think that counts as quality time with you.”

“Quality  _ forest  _ time!” Michael says. “It’s different.”

“Whatever, dork,” Jeremy laughs with a roll of his eyes. “You brought water bottles, right? I don’t want to have to get all Bear Grylls.”

Michael grimaces in disgust and glares at Jeremy, though it’s not truly unfriendly. “Would it kill you to not talk about piss? Weirdo.” His words are insulting, but he cracks a smile as he pulls off the road and into a small parking lot. “Anyway, we’re here.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Jeremy says, gently prodding Michael in the arm. Michael swats him away, chuckling a little as he puts the car in park. Jeremy looks around for the supposedly existent water bottles and finds them in the seats behind them; he grabs a clear one for himself and hands the other, a translucent green one, to Michael, who thanks him with a nod.

As they walk over to the trailhead, Michael says, “Now, there are some sorta cliffy parts near here, so if you need me to hold your hand- ow, hey!” Jeremy pinches Michael’s bare forearm, and Michael sticks his tongue out at him. “Jerk. I won’t carry you, then, even if your legs get achy and you get all tiiiired.”

Jeremy gasps, scandalized. “Michael Mell, you made a promise!”

Michael purses his lips. “Okay, maybe so,” he says, and laughs off his mock offense. “Nah, I’d carry you. I’m strong, and you weigh, like, two pounds. It’s my pleasure.”

“One condition: you have to carry me like a princess.” Jeremy laughs when Michael chuckles, a little flustered, and glances away.

It’s a fairly quiet walk- it feels wrong to talk so loud in such a gorgeous, somewhat secluded place- for the first twenty or so minutes, with the only real chatter happening when Jeremy points out a cool bug or a pretty bird. Eventually, though, Michael pipes up with, “Hey, do you remember that time in middle school when we went snow tubing for a field trip, and you forgot your coat at home and had to stay in the bus the whole time?”

Jeremy pauses, walking a little slower now. “...What?” He laughs, two parts nervous and one part amused. “Wait, did that happen?”  
“Yeah, dude,” Michael says. “I bought you hot chocolate and candy and sat in there with you the whole time. I think you cried a little.”

Well, that certainly  _ sounds  _ like something that would happen to him. It’s just… if the memory is there, it’s too fuzzy to discern. “Uh… no, I don’t remember,” he says quietly, voice nigh inaudible. That’s odd. ...Wait, how much of his childhood does he really remember?

“...Really?” Michael asks. “It was the most memorable field trip we ever had.”

“I said, I don’t remember!” Jeremy snaps, then immediately covers his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Michael doesn’t seem to mind, though; he just gives Jeremy a worried look, brows furrowed. “Are you alright, dude? You don’t have to be upset or anything, I get that you have a bad memory-”

“It’s not that,” Jeremy says. “Or, I guess- it’s worse than a bad memory. I try to think back, and it’s just… blocked.” He frowns. Did he repress his memories or something?

“Oookay, well, that’s kinda concerning,” Michael says hesitantly.

“Well, how much do  _ you  _ remember from your childhood?” Jeremy demands, defensive for reasons he can’t quite explain.

Michael thinks on that for a little while. “I don’t know. Like, I remember all my birthdays pretty well after, like, my tenth? And when people tell me stories, I usually remember at the mention, y’know? I dunno, this is kind of a tough question.”

Jeremy hums in bitter acknowledgement. “And it doesn’t feel like something’s blocking you when you can’t remember?”

Michael shakes his head. “It’s kinda like not remembering what you had for lunch. Like… ‘I guess I probably had it, so whatever’.”

“Uh-huh.” Jeremy runs his tongue over his lips and picks up the pace again. “I guess I kinda… don’t really remember much of anything before, what, freshman year?”

“You remember that song,” Michael says, “the first time we heard it.”

“Well, that’s… that’s special,” Jeremy says, and turns his gaze to the dirt path beneath his feet.

“I guess it is, huh?” Michael reaches out and pats Jeremy on the back, gentle hand warm against the thin fabric of his tee. “Hey, chin up. At least you remember the important things.”

Jeremy gives a quiet sigh, comforted by Michael’s touch. “Yeah, true,” he says, and smiles, although it’s a little shaky. “I, uh… I remember Halloween junior year, when I puked on your bed.”

Michael cringes at the reminder. “God, yeah. You kinda suck at being a good stoner, man.”

“Well, the bathroom was all the way upstairs!” Jeremy laughs. “It’s your fault for having a basement bedroom.”

“Hey, you have one, too!”

“Yeah, but I don’t smoke weed in it.”

Michael shrugs, resigned. “Okay, fair.” There’s silence for a few minutes before he asks, “...What else do you remember?”

“I remember…” Jeremy raises his eyes to the blue sky and the treetops, to the sun that shines down and dapples the ground with light. “I remember the time you came with me and Dad to the shelter, and we got Florence. Oh, that reminds me- don’t let me forget to bother Dad for a picture of her; I miss her.”

“She’s a good cat,” Michael agrees, “if a bit of a diva.”

“Someone’s gotta be,” Jeremy says. “Keep in mind, the Heeres are a family of two subdued soft boys.”

“If you call yourself, or God for-fucking-bid your 54-year-old father a ‘soft boy’ ever again, I will break into your house and assassinate you,” Michael deadpans.

“Better kill me in one shot,” Jeremy says, conceding that he had it coming like a freight train.

Michael laughs as he tousles Jeremy’s hair. “Do you remember… do you remember when we pulled an all-nighter to watch the Matrix trilogy because we were idiots and didn’t start until 11:00 P.M.?”

“And you cried when Trinity died?” Jeremy teases, poking him in the arm.

“And you thought that weird, sensual, really emo sex scene in the second one was hot?” Michael shoots back, and Jeremy’s face reddens. “Check and mate.”

“Shut it.” Jeremy elbows Michael in the side, but he’s grinning, and the forest is thrumming with the sound of chirping birds and buzzing insects, and the sun is warm on his back, and the breeze curls gently in his hair, and life is beautiful again for a second.

“Feeling better?” Michael asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Jeremy answers, and means it.

“Did we forget to have lunch? And dinner?” Jeremy asks, frowning as he stares through the windshield at the sun that’s beginning to set. 

Michael blinks, then frowns to match Jeremy’s expression. “Wait.  _ Did  _ we forget to have lunch and dinner?” He clicks his tongue. “Jeremy, we forgot to have lunch and dinner.”

“So we haven’t eaten in, like… nine hours? Huh.”

“I think you need to go on different meds,” Michael says, glancing at Jeremy out of the corner of his eye.

Jeremy shrugs, an unspoken ‘maybe so’. “Well, what’s your excuse?”

“My ADHD meds mess with my appetite, you know that,” Michael says.

Jeremy shrugs again. “Should we, like… eat?”

“Are you hungry?” Michael asks.

“Not really. You?” Jeremy asks in return.

“Not really.”

“That’s worrying.” Jeremy sticks his tongue out a little, pensive.

“Y’know.”

“Y’know.”

“You wanna get McD’s for dinner?” Michael asks. “As long as we’re eating like shit.”

“Chocolate chip muffins and cheap coffee is a perfectly nutritious and balanced breakfast!” Jeremy says, and laughs. “...I  _ really  _ want McD’s for dinner.”

“And you promise not to just order a McFlurry and subsist on that for the rest of the night?” Michael presses.

“Well, if you’re going to police my food choices, you may as well take me to a fancy restaurant instead of, like, the mother of all garbage,” Jeremy says. “Jussayin’.”

Despite his joking, Jeremy does end up getting a meal that’s at least slightly better than just a McFlurry. While Michael grabs his Big Mac, Jeremy clutches his to-go bag containing a 10 piece box of Chicken McNuggets and a medium bag of fries in one hand and, he will admit, a McFlurry in the other. So sue him.

Michael pays for both of their meals, which, don’t worry, Jeremy thanks him profusely for. In return, he’s tasked with holding the delicious-smelling bags of food in his lap as Michael drives to… “Wait, where are we even going?” Jeremy asks. “We could’ve just eaten at the restaurant. Wasn’t the freeway entrance back there somewhere?”

Michael shushes him with a pointer finger to his lips. “Have a little faith in me, alright? You’ll see.”

Jeremy looks at him for a second, blinks, and shrugs it off. He trusts Michael to know what he’s doing, even if it might be stupid.

It’s about ten minutes later that Michael finally pulls off the road and into an empty parking lot at a restaurant that’s closed for the night, smiles at Jeremy, and parks the car dead center- not even in a parking space. Jeremy rolls his eyes. “You’re so well-behaved.”

“There’s no one else around, Jeremy, and I don’t think it’s a written law that you have to park in the parking spaces.” Michael pokes Jeremy’s cheek. “Not to mention, I’m the one with the license and you’re not.”

Jeremy laughs and swats Michael’s hand away. “Hey, low blow. Those tests are hard to pass, and I hate driving anyway.”

Michael just ruffles Jeremy’s hair. “C’mon, are you gonna get out?”

“...The restaurant is closed, Michael,” Jeremy says. “What, you’re not planning on breaking in, are you?”

Michael laughs, loud and hearty. “I mean, get out and sit on the roof of the car. I’m a law-abiding citizen, Jeremy Heere!”

“Uh-huh, tell that to the bong you keep under your bed.”

“Just get out, ya dingus,” Michael says, and grabs his food from Jeremy’s lap after unbuckling his seat belt. 

Jeremy undoes his as well and steps out into the night, taking a deep breath and smiling as the cool air fills his lungs. He sets the paper bag on the roof of the car before climbing onto the hood, then onto the roof next to Michael and his food. His chicken nuggets are a little cold, but that’s alright; they’re not that good warm, either.

Even though there’s no conversation between the two of them, the night isn’t silent. Beyond the sound of chewing, which Jeremy detests, he can hear crickets chirping, the cars that rush by out on the road, the light breeze that runs through the leaves of the trees and makes his skin prickle.

And the stars- oh, the stars. Jeremy tips his head back and stares at them as they fade into visibility one by one, smiling as any tension he had slips away. Call it dumb, call him a dreamer, but something comes over him when he looks up at the stars- he doesn’t have, like, five NASA shirts for nothing. No matter what, they’re always there, unlike happiness and routine and love and mothers; when in doubt, you can always trust that the stars are in the sky, hung there by an invisible, godly hand, or so Jeremy likes to imagine when he’s feeling particularly fanciful.

He soon finds himself lying on his back, arms chilled by the cold metal of the car’s roof where it touches his skin, Michael at his left. The whole world is surrounding him, and he’s so small, but not in a bad way; he’s part of a whole, like there’s something tying him to the entirety of existence, and he’s tethered, not transient. There’s more of a sense of home here under the stars than inside his own house way back in New Jersey. Idly, he wonders if Michael feels the same.

And then he feels a hand grab his.

Jeremy’s eyes widen, and he turns to his left, turns to Michael, turns to a gentle face that’s much closer than before. “...Michael?” he asks softly. He knew this was coming, but holy crap, is he really going to make a move at a time like this, read the room, how’s he supposed to deal with this right now-

But he  _ wants  _ this. God, he wants it so bad. His heart hurts at the thought, and he longs for him, longs for Michael, and if he indulges himself just this once, it can’t be bad, right? Is it really such a sin?

“Jeremy,” Michael says, voice barely above a whisper, “can I- do you mind-”

“Kiss me,” Jeremy breathes, and he does.

It’s sort of hard to describe the feeling of Michael’s lips on his. The sensation is so deeply natural, like they’re meant to be there, like it’s been far, far too long coming and that his lips have been waiting for almost eighteen years, and maybe they have. They’re soft, if a little chapped, and his thumb is unbearably gentle on Jeremy’s cheekbone when he brings a hand up to cup his face, and suddenly, Jeremy’s not cold, even with the freezing metal beneath him and the nighttime breeze pricking at his skin, no, he’s warm all over, and when he finally pulls away to breathe, his heart is tripping over itself-

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy opens his eyes. God, Michael is gorgeous. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. “...Yeah?” he asks, voice shaky with glee and apprehension, but mostly nerves.

Michael takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Jeremy, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a long time… I really l-”

“Wait,” Jeremy cuts in. “Michael, don’t say it.”

Michael’s face falls, and Jeremy is struck with a pain of guilt. Shit, that’s right; the guy is sensitive to rejection, a side effect of ADHD. “...I don’t get it,” Michael says, distress blatant in his voice. “I mean, you let me kiss you. You  _ told  _ me to kiss you-”

“I know! I know, and I liked it a lot, but…” Jeremy sighs. “I don’t think I can deal with… confessions and sorting out feelings and everything right now, what with Mom and all. I don’t have the emotional energy.”

Michael turns over onto his back, turning his eyes from Jeremy to the dark, glimmering sky. “I guess that’s fair,” he says, but there’s a wobble in his voice that makes Jeremy’s heart plummet. “Look, I’m sorry if it was inconvenient or something. I should’ve chosen a better time.” He mumbles something else that Jeremy can’t quite make out, but he doesn’t pry.

“No, it’s okay,” Jeremy assures him. “I just need to take some time to figure out my own shit. And, look, I like you back, I really do, but I- I can’t… talk about dating and stuff right now, ‘cuz… my fuckin’ mom, man. I can’t deal with all of this at once.”

Michael chuckles, and in his laugh is a mix of bitterness and apology. “This really isn’t a fairy tale, is it?”

Jeremy snorts. “More like a shitty drama novel by some teenager who wants to see me suffer.”

“Better than a trashy smut novel from the checkout lane of a grocery store,” Michael jokes, and Jeremy is relieved to hear some humor creep back into his voice. “...Wait. Or is it?”

“There’s nobody I’d rather be in a trashy smut novel with.”

There’s a long silence, then, between the two of them, on the verge of uncomfortable but never quite getting there. Eventually, Michael breaks it with, “Shit, we’re gonna be too late to check into our motel tonight.”

“What? Where are we gonna sleep?” The warmth from Michael’s touch finally seeps from Jeremy’s body as he begins to panic. He sits up, looking with wide eyes at Michael and banking on him having a suggestion or an answer. He’s always the one with the plan.

Michael sits up alongside him and places a comforting hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says. “We’ll just sleep in the car.”

Jeremy sticks his tongue out a little at that. “Do you know how bad that’s gonna fuck up our backs, dude?” 

“Well, look on the bright side. Would you rather sit and look at the stars with a hot guy-” Michael clicks his tongue and shoots Jeremy with finger guns- “or go to a lame motel and watch shitty TV?”

Jeremy chuckles- well, it’s more of a giggle, because he’s a useless bisexual- and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, I guess it was sorta worth it.”

“Hell, yeah, it was,” Michael says with a little smirk, and holds his hand up for Jeremy to slap, which he instantly does. “Anyway, it’s, like, 10:30. Do you wanna go to sleep or something?”

Jeremy groans. The thought of going to sleep so early slays him a little, because it’s summer break, and he’s usually up until one in the morning on nights like these. He’s got a long day ahead of him, though, so he acquiesces. Sure, he could take a nap in the car, but he doesn’t want to leave Michael alone, because the guy gets stir crazy pretty easily. Jeremy’s always laughed at the reputation Michael has as the antisocial weirdo- the guy isn’t antisocial, he just knows that 90% of the students at Middle Borough High aren’t worth talking to. 

“Yeah, I know, dude, but we’re gonna regret it tomorrow if we don’t conk out pretty soon,” Michael says, echoing Jeremy’s thoughts. “Plus, we should probably get out of here before people try to park in the lot.”

Unable to beat that logic, Jeremy gives in. He hops down from the roof of the car, grunting as his feet hit the ground hard, and grabs his empty McDonald’s bag. He opens the car door and tosses it inside, where it rolls under the passenger’s seat. Thank God Michael isn’t a neat freak. “...Hey,” Jeremy says hesitantly, “I know I kinda brushed you off and all, and I’m really sorry, I am, but do you think you could still…” He glances down at his feet, clad in red Chuck Taylors. 

Michael blinks in confusion, but understands a moment later. “Oh- you mean hold you?” 

Bordering on humiliated, Jeremy nods.

Michael gives him a gentle, understanding smile. “Look, I said it was alright. It was my bad anyway. If that’s what you need, then I’m more than happy to.” His smile turns to a mild frown. “Although, we might not have space…”

That’s the least of his worries. Jeremy runs his hand through his hair, a nervous tic. “It’s just sort of embarrassing, is all.”

“You really need to stop worrying about what people think of you,” Michael says. “It’s just me, man, don’t worry.”

“You sound like my therapist, Michael,” Jeremy points out, blunt, but meaning no harm.

Michael isn’t offended. “C’mon, that’s my job as your bestest fwiend,” he says, and slides off the car, too. He claps Jeremy on the back. “‘S my pleasure, after all. I mean, I thought that was implied.”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure,” Jeremy says, and rubs his arm awkwardly. “...Uh, should we…”

Michael nods, then frowns again; he peers at the inside of the Cruiser, presumably trying to figure out the logistics of sleeping intertwined. “Okay, so I think what we’re gonna have to do is…” Michael opens the door to the bench seat and makes his way to the opposite end, making sure to lean forward and lock the car before sitting down. Turning his head back to Jeremy, he pats his thigh. “C’mere.”

Jeremy raises his eyebrows. “You want me to sit on your lap?”

“No, ya dingus,” Michael says, “use me as a pillow. I’m soft.”

...Which is the cutest possible thing he could have said; Jeremy can’t keep back a momentary smile. It falls soon enough, though. “But… isn’t that uncomfortable, for you to be sitting like that? That’s no way to sleep.”

“Well, we can’t both lie down,” Michael says. “It’s not a couch.”

Jeremy hums, conceding the point. “Only if you’re gonna be able to get to sleep,” he says as he climbs in, tucking up his knees in a fetal position that only a twig like him could enter in such a tight space. It’s more comfortable than he expected.

Jeremy’s dumb idiot heart starts jumping around in his chest again as Michael’s fingers card through the curls of his dark hair, and he’s half afraid he won’t be able to fall asleep like this, kept awake by thoughts of kissing his best friend under the ever-present moon and stars or threading their fingers together as they walk down the streets. The comfort of Michael’s steady breathing lulls him into sleepiness, though, and it’s not long until he’s on the brink of gentle nothingness, breathing slow and heavy. Somehow, even without blankets, he doesn’t feel cold. Michael, as always, keeps him warm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry for missing last week i was sick & depressed (possibly sick from being depressed) and it just Didnt Happen but anyway im gonna be publishing this twice a week now so Hopefully that will make up for it and then some  
emetophobia tw in the latter ~half of the chapter but nothing of any consequence happens so you won't miss anything if you skip it. it was way worse in the first and second drafts so Youre Welcome for trimming it down. i also wrote this two years ago so i have no clue as to why i had the idea in the first place. to torture the emetophobes here i suppose

_ “Mrs. Heere, this place is amazing! Have you been here before?” _

_ Although he’s a far cry from 21- twelve years old, in fact- Jeremy stands on the second and topmost floor of a bar in Washington, D.C. as a live band plays music from the 70s. At his right stands his mother, and at his left stands Michael-known-as-Maya, who has a secret that only Jeremy knows. As the light breeze tousles his hair and the sunshine warms his back, he smiles, content and almost, almost safe.  _

_ Jeremy’s mother nods. “A few times. I used to live in this area before I met Jeremy’s father.” _

_ Michael isn’t looking down at the street like Jeremy’s mother or up at the sky like Jeremy himself. Instead, he’s turned the other way, staring intently at the band across the rooftop. There’s a grin of admiration on his face, and it brings one to Jeremy’s, too, as he turns his head to look at him. _

_ Jeremy’s mother nudges him with her elbow, and Jeremy tears his gaze away from Michael to look up at her, surprisingly disarming with a smile on her face and warmth in her eyes. “The music’s great, isn’t it?” she asks, and Jeremy nods vigorously.  _

_ “I love this place!” he says, beaming. He stares at his mother, who’s nearly unrecognizable in her happiness, for another moment, then turns back to the street. On the sidewalk across the way, he can recognize a clump of preteens who he thinks are his classmates, and, with a huge wave of his whole arm, he calls out, “Hey, guys!”  _

_ One of the girls looks up, sees Jeremy at the top of the building, and gives a weak wave before going back to talking to her friends. It’s the most Jeremy could hope for. _

_ Jeremy’s mother puts a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and smiles as she rubs it through his tee. It’s a bizarre feeling, like it shouldn’t be happening. Her hands haven’t been this kind to him before. But it stays there, gentle, not harming him, not scratching him or… or burning his skin, or some other morbid attack. Why is he so scared? His mom’s okay. She’s not that bad. _

_ The three of them stay there for a few more songs, but eventually, Jeremy’s mother’s phone begins to trill, and she curses under her breath. “We’ve gotta get back to the buses,” she tells Jeremy and Michael, and the two boys follow her as she pushes through the small crowd that’s amassed and down the stairs again, through the main restaurant and bar, and out into the street. _

_ “Too bad we couldn’t stay for the whole set,” Michael says, and sighs. “I had fun, though. That was awesome!” He glances at Jeremy’s mother, then back at Jeremy, and leans in to whisper in his ear. “And she’s… she’s getting better, isn’t she? She used to be way worse.” _

_ Jeremy hesitates, but nods after a few seconds. His mother had been kind today- kind the whole trip, really. Maybe she wasn’t all that bad. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees finally. Things are picking up for the Heeres… at least, he sure hopes so. _

“Get off my legs, Jeremy, I gotta piss.”

Jeremy can hardly believe his life. He’s barely awake, bleary-eyed as he reluctantly lifts his head from Michael’s thigh- Michael, who he kissed; Michael, who he loves; Michael, who sat there all night, probably not getting any sleep, just so Jeremy could be comfortable and use his legs as a pillow. He smiles, more than content with his current situation. 

Michael pushes him the rest of the way off, clearly not kidding about having to piss. He’d better hope the restaurant they’re parked near is open, because pissing in the woods is more of a hassle than it’s made out to be.

Jeremy lies back down, and his smile widens at the lingering warmth of Michael’s body. He won’t mind if Jeremy steals his spot… hopefully? Probably not. Eh, the worst he can do is kill him.

Michael comes back a few minutes later, and the good news is this: he doesn’t mind that Jeremy has stolen his spot. The bad news, though, is that he’s apparently ready to get going. “Jeremy? Are you awake?” he asks, leaning in to shake Jeremy’s leg.

Jeremy groans. “No,” he answers, and Michael laughs.

“Dude, buddy, it’s already 8:00. You gotta get up sometime.”

Jeremy throws one arm dramatically over his face. “Just keep going without me; I’ll nap back here…”

Michael shakes his head. “Nope, no, that’s unsafe,” he says. His voice turns serious as he continues, “I’m not letting you get hurt if we crash.”

That gets Jeremy up. Ever since he was a little kid, he’s had a (rational) fear of car crashes. He’s had a few near misses; they’re absolutely harrowing experiences. He can’t imagine what getting in an actual crash is like.

Michael climbs over to sit in the driver’s seat, pulls his keys out of his pocket, and starts the car. “Come on,” he urges again, like an owner begging their cat to come hither.

“We really gotta go now, huh?” Jeremy sighs, resigned, as he watches him, trying to make a point of not looking at his ass. In the end, he gives in.

“Hey, man, you’re the one who wanted to go according to schedule. I assume the schedule doesn’t involve sleeping for more than ten hours.”

“I mean, I guess,” Jeremy says, making his way up to the passenger’s seat. “But that was when I thought I would be sleeping in a motel room instead of the backseat of your car.” He pauses as something comes to him. “Oh- how did you sleep?”

“Eh, y’know.” It’s still too early for cars to line the parking spaces, so Michael has space to do a wide U-turn to leave the lot and get back out on the road. “You were a nice, um… leg blanket, at least.”

“I do my best,” Jeremy says with a shrug and a little smile.

Michael doesn’t mention last night- the kiss, the hand holding, any of it- but still, Jeremy can feel something akin to an electric charge in the air, like the sensation just before a thunderstorm, only without the ozone smell. It’s a dreadful mix of stressful and entertaining- it feels kinda nice, but Jeremy aches to talk things out and maybe kiss a little more. It’s impossible, though: he just doesn’t have the time. Not right now. Still, it’s nice to know that he’s wanted- loved, even. It’s not exactly something he’s been shown much in his life, or at least not as much as he should be.

Instead, they fill the void of the car with chatter about Michael’s weird internet friends-  _ “Oh, my God, did I tell you my friend drank half a jug of spoiled milk on accident last week?”-  _ and Jeremy’s astronomy expertise-  _ “Did you see Lupus last night? The one that looks kinda like a wolf?”.  _ It’s fun, because, well, they’re best friends, always have been and always will be, but about an hour in, Jeremy becomes acutely aware that Michael wants to put some music on. Sure enough- “You mind if I put a CD in?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Nah, man, you’re good.”

“Thanks, bud,” Michael says, and flicks his gaze back and forth between the road and the CD holder, looking at the labels on the narrow spines of their case, until he finds the one he’s looking for: a generic, clear-cased one, the plastic scuffed at the corners, labeled  _ Club Bangers Vol. 1. _

“Oh, wow,” Jeremy says as Michael pushes it into the CD player. “We haven’t listened to this one in forever.”

_ Club Bangers Vol. 1-  _ there was no volume two, actually, but it made it sound more official- was created as a response to a terminal case of boredom one warm afternoon during spring break of their sixth grade year. Michael had just learned how to make mix CDs, and, after making one as a Mother’s Day gift for the following month, he decided it was time for him to make one with Jeremy. Jeremy was never as into music as Michael was, but he was able to whip up a list of his favorite songs pretty easily: “Sussudio” by Phil Collins, “Africa” by Toto, “You Make My Dreams” by Hall and Oates… pretty much any 80s top 40.  _ “Is this all you listen to?”  _ Michael had asked, amused, while Jeremy scoffed.

_ “80s music is amazing! You take that back!” _

_ “Normie.” _

_ “What the hell does that even mean!?” _

The CD turned out to be a motley grab bag of 80s classics (Jeremy), alternative rock (Michael), groovy 70s tunes (Michael again), and various trashy pop songs (Jeremy, of course). They used to listen to it all the time, often singing and dancing along to it in the privacy of Michael’s basement. 

But Jeremy doesn’t sing much anymore.

See, when he was younger, when his mother was still around, one of the only interests they had in common was singing. Sure, there were a couple TV shows they watched together, but it was a completely different experience with singing. They had to work together, taking the melody and the countermelody and piecing them together, like the car was a recording studio. The memories of singing, of the humming sensation in his throat and the way his throat ached after a particularly challenging song, were so ingrained in the memory of his mother that when she left, the singing left, too.

Little by little,  _ Club Bangers Vol. 1  _ was retired. It’s no fun singing by oneself, judging by the dejected expression Michael always donned when Jeremy refrained from singing along. When his mothers got a new car and Michael inherited their old one, it was simply and neatly deposited in the back of the CD holder. Looking at it now, a pang of sorrow hits Jeremy’s chest like a bullet. He tries not to think about it, but God, he misses those days. He wants to hear the way his voice intertwines with Michael’s, taking the high note while Michael takes the lower, because, even after his voice broke, it remained relatively high and effeminate, as opposed to Michael’s impressive soprano to tenor range. He longs for the little looks they’d give each other during some songs just before the most intense parts, where they’d sing their throats raw, that “You ready to jam?” smirk. For God’s sake, he was in choir for four years; he misses singing.

Michael presses play.

Jeremy never thought he would be tearing up as he listens to the opening instrumentals of “Africa” by Toto, but the memories- God, his memory is finally working, and it’s torturing him- are too much, and his heart seems to grow thorns and prick at his pericardium until it pops and bleeds. As Michael sings and taps at the steering wheel to the mellow beat, Jeremy blinks away tears, turning his head to stare out the window in the hope of not letting Michael see him.

Michael, however, knows him too well to miss it. Maybe he sniffles or something. “What’s wrong, Jeremy?” he asks, giving him a concerned glance.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jeremy answers, though he’s not very convincing, if the slight tremble in his voice is anything to go by. “I, um. I’ve got a cold.”

“In June?” Michael asks incredulously.

“It can happen!” Jeremy looks down at his lap, sighing.

Michael reaches a hand out to turn down the music, but changes his mind and moves it back to the steering wheel. “Jeremy, will you please be honest with me?” He’s gentle, but firm.

Jeremy is quiet for a minute. This, along with every other thing he’s been upset about in recent memory, is so  _ stupid.  _ He’s like a baby or some shit like that. “...I just miss singing a lot,” he answers after a hesitation, his voice quiet with shame. “I miss singing with _ you.”  _

“Jeremy,” Michael says, “you can still sing. There’s nothing stopping you.”

“Yeah, but. It always reminds me of my mom, y’know?”

“Africa” fades out and is replaced by “Meals on Wheels” by Tigers Jaw. Michael sighs out, taking his eyes from the road momentarily to look at Jeremy. His words are soft as he says, “Jeremy, you need to stop being so afraid. It’s been five years.”

“I can’t just get over my mom’s bullshit, Michael,” Jeremy says, annoyed. “I’m not like you, man. You’re never bothered by  _ anything.” _

Michael snorts. “Jeremy, I’m bothered by a lot of things. I just don’t let it stop me. I just… want to hear your voice again, okay?” He pauses, sighs. “I just want you to be happy, and when you sing- when you  _ sang-  _ that was the happiest I ever saw you.”

“Shut up, I’m gonna cry,” Jeremy says, barely audible, and he sort of does, a tear finally slipping from his eye. God, this is the second time he’s cried over something enormously stupid in the past three days. Can he maybe stop with the mood swings and the overreactions and shit? “Just- just let me not sing. Alright? I don’t want to sing.”

“...Can you at least try?” Michael asks, and his tone is so gentle, so tender, that it almost sways him; when he talks like that, Jeremy would kill a man if he asked him to.

Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut. “But I’m gonna sound shitty,” he protests. “I haven’t sung in years. I’m gonna be all rusty, and I can’t remember all the words. My voice is gonna be all… crack-y and stuff.”

“So what if it is?” There’s sympathy in his voice as Michael says, “Dude. I’m not a very good singer. I have a good range and that’s it- hell, I’m tone-deaf. You don’t have to be good at singing to sing; you just gotta do the damn thing.”

Jeremy is silent for a long while. He bites the inside of his cheek until he can’t do it any harder, and flinches. “...Will you at least- will you turn on one of my songs?”

That brings a smile to Michael’s face. “Yeah, gimme a sec.” He presses the skip button on the CD player a few times, skipping past some of his punk songs, and settles on one of Jeremy’s favorites. Deep synthpop resounds from the speakers and fills the car.

Jeremy’s voice is a little wobbly, a little hesitant, and, yes, slightly messed up on the pitch, but he could be a lot worse. A smile starts to spread across his face as the electric guitar kicks in, and he’s singing as loud and strong as he dares, and somewhere in the back of his brain, he’s certain that he’ll be overtaken by memories soon and have a mood drop for a few hours, but for now, he feels free.

The singing can only keep Jeremy entertained for so long, and eventually, he’s leaning against the window with his cheek cupped in one hand, just barely asleep. Michael’s turned down the music for him, so it’s a pretty quiet ride. He only gets about half an hour of sleep, though, before Michael is shaking him awake. 

“Hey, bud, it’s lunchtime,” Michael says softly. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Jeremy groans, stretching out his arms and legs to shake off the exhaustion. “Do we have to go to a restaurant?” he asks. “‘M too tired.”

“I really do wonder why you’re so fatigued.” Michael shakes his head. “It’s a little worrying.”

“Michael.”

“Right, sorry. Um, I guess we don’t  _ have  _ to go to a restaurant,” Michael says. “You wanna just stop at a convenience store? We could pick up some jerky and crackers or something.”

“And slushies.”

“And slushies. Is that what you want?” Michael asks.

Jeremy nods sleepily.

“I’ll pull off at the next exit, then,” Michael says, and reaches out to tousle Jeremy’s hair, which Jeremy smooths out with a huff. “You’re gonna have to wake up sometime, though.”

Jeremy weakly flips Michael the bird.

“Asshole.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

In a few minutes, Michael is pulling into the parking lot of a small gas station, and Jeremy shifts in his seat, a little more awake now. He yawns as he unbuckles his seat belt and clumsily gets out of the car, glad to be able to walk around and get some fresh air. He squeaks a little as he stretches his whole body, and Michael chuckles. “What’re  _ you  _ laughing at?” Jeremy asks.

“You’re cute,” Michael answers, and Jeremy slaps him lightly in the shoulder. “Ow! Hey, what was that for?”

“I’m not cute,” Jeremy says, and sticks out his tongue. “But I  _ am  _ hungry. So, can we get some food?”

Michael nods. “Yeah, and we can stock up on our snacks, too. You kind of demolished the Cheez-Its.”

“They were good!” Jeremy says defensively. “You know I can’t get enough of the white cheddar ones. They’re superior, Michael.”

“Coward. The best ones are Hot & Spicy,” Michael says as he elbows open the door.

“Shit hurts my mouth,” Jeremy grumbles.

“And that, my dear, is because you’re a bitchass white boy,” Michael says, and flicks Jeremy in the temple. Jeremy just laughs.

Beef jerky sounds pretty freakin’ excellent right now, so Jeremy looks around, finding the typical display in less than a minute. There’s about a trillion different kinds to choose from, and his eyes dart over the labels; eventually, he finds what he’s looking for and kneels down to grab it. He grabs it off the little rack and stands up again, then looks toward the aisles of candy. “Yo, Michael, what kinda candy d’you want?”

“How ‘bout some peach rings?” Michael calls back.

Jeremy nods and scans the shelves of candy as he walks down the aisles, muttering “Peach rings, peach rings, peach rings…” He never really liked those things, but whatever, more for Michael. Eventually, his haul comes to the aforementioned jerky and peach rings, some Twizzlers (Michael’s second favorite, and quite good, in Jeremy’s opinion), Golden Oreos, and a box of Cheez Its, this time original instead of white cheddar. It’s good to have some variety. In the meantime, Michael had picked out a liter of Diet Coke and some sushi, which Jeremy turns his nose up at. “Seriously? Gas station sushi?”

“They’re a good source of nutrition, as opposed to your cookies and shit,” Michael retorts.

“I got jerky, too. And you’ll get worms!” Jeremy rolls his eyes. “If you get food poisoning, don’t expect me to rub your back while you yartz into a public toilet.”

Of course, since Jeremy’s a loyal friend and also a moonstruck fool, that’s exactly what he ends up doing. A couple hours after the boys have lunch and around an hour from Birmingham, their final destination for the night, a frown crosses Michael’s face. “Hey, Jeremy?” he asks. “Look something up for me, will you? Can you get carsick while driving?”

Jeremy glances over at Michael with a quirked eyebrow- and a sinking feeling in his stomach- and types the question into his phone’s search browser. After scrolling through the results for a minute, he says, “Uh… it seems more rare? And less intense.”

Michael nods slowly. “Less intense, huh?”

“Uh… yeah. Duder, are you okay?”

“Hm. I really don’t think so,” Michael says, frown deepening. “Will you just, ah, give me a second?” And then- to spare the gory details- he pulls the car over to the side of the road, gets out, and pukes all over his doofy white shoes.

Jeremy is sorely, sorely tempted to tell him “I told you so,” but that’s overridden by him a) being a genuinely nice person, usually, and b) loving and appreciating Michael. Instead, he opens the door, walks hesitantly over to Michael- who’s coughing up stomach acid at the edge of the cotton field they’re parked next to- and pats him on the back. “Are you alright?” he asks, which, in retrospect, is a stupid question.

Michael swallows sharply and shakes his head. “It was the freakin’ shrimp, man,” he chokes out. “I can’t believe you were right about this.”

“Really? You couldn’t believe that cheap-ass sushi you got from a shady gas station wasn’t prepared well?” Jeremy raises one eyebrow teasingly. 

“Ugh, shut it, Jeremy,” Michael says, and slaps weakly at his shoulder before hissing and bending over. “Ah, fuck, stomach cramps. Will you grab some water, and, like-”

“Help you drink…?” Jeremy asks. “Good idea. You’ll get dehydrated at this rate.”

Michael shakes his head quickly. “Nah, man, I need to clean off my shoes. These are my favorite pair!”

“Why are you like this?” Jeremy asks, and ruffles Michael’s hair, damp with sweat. As he wipes his hand on his jeans, mildly disgusted, he continues, “Just… toss ‘em in the field, man. Do you really wanna keep puke shoes?” He glances down at them and grimaces.

“These cost, like, $80, Heere!” Michael protests.

“Toss ‘em, or I won’t drive you anywhere and you can sit here puking in someone’s cotton field instead of in a nice, cool bathroom.”

Groaning, Michael kicks off his vomit-drenched shoes, and they land with a soft thump as they crumple a stem of cotton.

“...Whoops.”

“Whoops.”

Jeremy shrugs. “C’mere, bud,” he says, and wraps an arm around Michael’s shoulders, rubbing his arm gently as he guides him back to the car. He gets him settled easily enough, strapping him in as he writhes in pain. It’s only when he gets into the driver’s seat that he pauses. “...I’ve never driven your car.”

Michael frowns. “It’s not that different from your car. What’s the deal?”

The truth is, Jeremy hates driving. He knows  _ how  _ to drive, sure, he got his permit and drove around in his dad’s car a few times, but his chest seizes with fear at the thought of it. The things are four-ton metal death traps! What if he messes up? What if he and Michael had to live through a wicked bad car crash? Good Lord, what if they don’t live at all? He hesitates, glancing over at Michael.

It’s… not a pleasant sight. Michael is shaking, clammy; he squeezes his eyes shut tight as he hisses, “Jeremy, for God’s sake, just drive the car, I need medicine-”

Well, shit. He’s gotta climb this mountain sometime, and what better time to do it than when he’s pretty much forced to to avoid being puked on? “Sorry, sorry, I’m…” He breathes deep, in and out. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. “I’m ready. I can do this.”

“You’d better,” Michael says.

“I will.”

Hoping to God he remembers how to do everything- it’s been about six months since he’s been behind the wheel, so he’s feeling a little rusty- Jeremy pulls away from the side of the road and begins to drive again, picking up where Michael left off. “Where should I go? What do you need?”

“I need- I think- for vomiting, it’s Imodium, right?” Michael croaks.

Jeremy nods. “I think so?”

“There’s gotta be a Walgreens around here somewhere. I think you can get it there, but, like, at  _ least  _ just get me somewhere with a bathroom, okay?” He fumbles with the switch on the door for a second before lowering the window, sticking his head into the fresh air. “Oh, that feels good.”

Jeremy nods and keeps his eyes peeled for a Walgreens. As Michael shakes from cramps and chokes down vomit, Jeremy drives for about fifteen minutes- all he can really handle- before he comes across a sight for sore eyes. “We’re here! We’re here."

“Thank God,” Michael says, and paws weakly at his seat belt until he manages to unbuckle himself and stumble out the door. 

Jeremy rushes around the front of the car to hold him, allowing him to lean on him and rubbing his arm. “You doing alright?” he asks, although, again, it’s a stupid question.

Michael shakes his head. “I actually feel pretty shitty, but thanks for asking.”

“You’re gonna be fine, okay, bud?” Jeremy says softly, pressing his forehead to the crown of Michael’s head. “I’ve got you.”

“Well, you’d better get me to a bathroom before I puke all over you,” Michael grumbles, but there’s a tone of affection in his voice that soothes Jeremy’s nerves just the slightest bit.

“Alright, alright, I got it,” he says. “C’mon.” Careful not to walk too fast, Jeremy leads Michael to the entrance of the store and pushes it open with his shoulder. The two of them stumble in, and the cashier looks over and frowns.

“Whoa, whoa, this isn’t a hospital,” she says. “Is he sick?”

Jeremy nods. “Food poisoning. Where are your bathrooms?”

Bewildered, the cashier points towards the back of the store, near the pharmacy. “Uh, don’t let him puke on the floor, please; we don’t have a janitor right now, so it’s my job to clean.”

“I’ll make a really, really good attempt not to vom, just for you,” Michael deadpans, visibly annoyed.

The cashier pauses, taken aback by Michael’s hostility. “Right, right, sorry.”

Michael does, in fact, make it, although Jeremy wouldn’t put it past him to puke on the floor just out of spite. Thankfully, it’s a single bathroom, not one with stalls; there’s enough room for Jeremy to sit down next to him and rub the small of his back as he finally voids his stomach again. 

After a minute, Jeremy realizes that Michael is crying. “Shit, dude, are you alright?” he asks, leaning in.

Michael shakes his head. “Every time you ask that, you’re going to get the same answer,” he says, voice raw. “I honest to God feel like I’m dying.”

Gentle, Jeremy turns Michael’s head toward him, cupping his face with one hand and jotting down a mental note to wash his hands, like, five times when he has the chance. With one thumb, he wipes a tear from his cheek. “It’s okay, man. You’ll feel better by tomorrow.”

Michael’s lip trembles. “Sorry. I’m being an idiot. I just don’t like being sick, y’know?”

That’s true; the last time Michael got really sick- in his words, it was like choking on barbed wire whenever he swallowed- he’d cried as well, about which he made Jeremy promise to tell absolutely nobody.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, and moves his hand to run it through Michael’s hair, still drenched with sweat. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just sick, is all.”

Michael nods, squeezes his eyes shut, and heaves into the toilet again. Nothing comes out, just spit, and Jeremy observes the progress gratefully.

“I’m gonna go buy that Imodium, okay? Hopefully that’ll stop the vomming.” Jeremy pauses. “I don’t really know how medicine works.”

“Don’t you listen to that one medical podcast?”

“Well, that didn’t teach me anything  _ useful,  _ though.”

Michael waves him off. “Just go!”

Jeremy does so, admittedly a little glad to get away from the action, as it were, and goes to hunt down the medicine. It takes him a few minutes, but he eventually finds the light blue package. It apparently doesn’t treat nausea, but it’s good for stomach cramps, which, if Michael’s constant clutching of his stomach is anything to go by, is the biggest concern right now. Jeremy exhales deeply in relief as he notices that the price is only about $10. He rushes over to the cashier and practically slams the box down on the counter. “Hi! Hello! I need this.”

“Yeah, I figured you might,” the cashier says, and tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear before she grabs the box and scans it. “That’ll be $9.50.”

Jeremy slaps a $10 bill onto the counter and says, “Keep the change.”

He turns to go back to the bathroom, but the cashier asks, “How’s he holding up?”

Jeremy turns back for a second and shrugs. “I mean, he’s sorta crying a bit, but he’s not gonna die,” he says. “He had gas station sushi for lunch, so. It’s like that sometimes.”

The cashier nods, grimacing. “Well, good luck, you two.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy says quickly, and throws a hand up to wave before turning and nearly running back to the bathroom. He knocks on the door before he comes in. “Yo, Michael, you good? Can I come in?”

“...Yeah,” Michael says faintly, and Jeremy twists the handle to open the door.

Michael is leaning against the toilet, curled into a weak fetal position, eyes closed as he rests his head on his shoulder. He’s still shaking a bit, and a tear slides down his face as Jeremy watches. “Did you get the stuff?” he asks. “Actually, that’s a stupid question.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” Jeremy hands the box to Michael, who takes it in one clammy hand. “Take four.”

Michael nods and manages to get four pills out of the packaging after struggling with it for a few moments. “Ugh, this shit is such a pain,” he grumbles. “D’you have any water on you?”

With a sinking feeling, Jeremy remembers that he didn’t grab either of the water bottles from the car. “...No,” he says, an apology in his tone. “Uh, could you use the sink?”

Michael attempts to stand up, but hisses in pain and crumples to the floor as a cramp hits him. He shakes his head. “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to stand up for a while,” he says. “Should I take them dry?”

Jeremy shakes his head in return. “No, it can get caught in your throat and give you a chemical burn… I think. That’s what I read, anyway.” He scratches the back of his head. “Are you sure you can’t stand?”

Michael sighs, exhaling shakily. “I might be able to if you hold me? Like… support me.”

“I’m your best friend, I always support you,” Jeremy says, and Michael gives him a blank stare. “...Never mind. C’mere.” Jeremy bends down next to Michael, who slings an arm over his shoulder. Jeremy takes his hand and stands up with a grunt- jeez, was he always this heavy?- before leading him toward the sink. Thankfully, the bathroom isn’t too terribly big; the sink is only a few steps away. “Here, is this close enough?” Jeremy asks.

Michael opens his eyes a little more, takes a second to let them focus, and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” He tips his head back and tosses the pills into his mouth, then, when Jeremy turns on the sink, cups his hands to fill them with water. With a slightly disgusting slurping noise- though it’s by far not the most disgusting thing that’s happened that day- he swallows the pills, then lets his eyes fall shut. “Thanks, Jeremy,” he murmurs.

Jeremy nods. “It’s no big,” he says. “Hey, I owe ya for putting up with my bullshit. It’s the least I could do.”

Michael just smiles. “Love ya, dude.”

“Love you too,” Jeremy replies, and, wow, Jeremy shouldn’t be so tempted to kiss him, given that he’s already decided that he can’t deal with those feelings right now, and, more importantly, because Michael just puked about a jillion times, so it’d be pretty insanely gross. That doesn’t stop him from lingering on the thought.

Instead of kissing Michael, Jeremy lies there with him for a while, letting the chill of the linoleum seep into his bones. It’s probably more relaxing for Michael, who pretty much just lies, prone, on the ground as Jeremy combs through his hair with his fingers. After a couple hours of near silence, he checks the clock on his phone- 7:17 P.M. “Hey, Michael?” he asks softly. “You feeling good enough to get going again, bud?”

Michael sighs, voice shaking less- if at all- as he replies, “I dunno. What time is it?”

“Around 7:20,” Jeremy answers. “We should probably leave. I sorta wanna get the whole driving thing over with.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Michael says, tapping his fingers against the grungy white floor. “We should… we should go.”

“Wait,” Jeremy says before Michael can attempt to get up. “How’re you feeling?”

“Well… I think the vomiting stopped,” Michael says, rolling onto his back. “And my stomach isn’t, like, cramping anymore. It just sort of aches.”

Jeremy nods. “Got it. But take it easy; I’d rather wait to get out on the road than have you puke in the car or cry again.”

“I didn’t cry!” Michael whines.

“You totally did, but it’s okay, I understand,” Jeremy says, and ruffles his hair. “Can you stand?”

Michael shifts into a kneeling position, then gestures for Jeremy to stand up; when he does, he grabs Jeremy’s hand to pull himself up. “Thanks, man,” he says.

Jeremy nods again, saying, “No, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to thank me.” He’s about to make a move for the door, but, after thinking for a moment, he pulls Michael into a hug, rubbing his back in long, loving strokes. “You’re gonna be alright. These things don’t last very long, remember?”

Michael chuckles. “Stop babying me,” he says, breath warm on Jeremy’s neck, but there’s no real anger in his voice. “I know. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Jeremy says, and ruffles Michael’s hair one last time before breaking the hug and letting him stand up on his own. “Wait, can you walk?”

Michael nods. “Yeah, dude, I’m alright. That stuff worked pretty well.”

“Good,” Jeremy says, relieved. “Come on. We should get going.”

The cashier waves at them on their way out, giving Michael a thumbs up. Jeremy waves back, and Michael gives her a small, slightly confused “Yo.”

It’s far easier getting Michael in the car than getting him out. Jeremy leans the passenger’s seat back- he knows his way around Michael’s car- and has him lie on it, which he does gratefully. “Make sure to not hit anything, dude, or I’ll get an airbag in the cooch,” he warns Jeremy.

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Good thing you stopped me, I was planning on hitting a tree.” He worries his lip, though, as he looks down at him. “Uh, you’re absolutely sure you’re going to be good in the car?”

Michael waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Don’t worry. Let’s just… get to the motel. It’s only about a forty-five minutes away, I think. I dunno, look at my maps app.”

Google Maps is still up on Michael’s phone, which, thankfully, wasn’t burgled; Jeremy had forgotten to lock the car when they went into the store. When Jeremy twists the key and turns the ignition on, then drives to the exit of the parking lot, the GPS tells him to turn left, but he pauses. “Wait. I’m going to have to drive for the whole forty-five minutes?”

“...Yeah, dude,” Michael says. “Look, I love you and all, but you  _ have  _ to do this. I dunno what else to tell you. Just follow the directions and look at the signs and you’ll be fine; we’re not even on the highway for this leg of the trip.”

Jeremy breathes in and out, in and out. He’s made it this far; he can’t give up now… but he was barely thinking about his phobia last time, mostly just worrying about Michael, and now he’s fully conscious of his fear. But this is no time to be selfish- at least, he thinks it might be selfish. Michael probably thinks it is. Regardless, he has to do this. He pulls out into the street, which, as luck would have it, isn’t too busy. Michael gives him a thumbs up from the passenger’s seat, to which Jeremy replies, “Thanks, duder.”

It gets easier soon...ish. The first twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five, are nerve-wracking, and Jeremy swears he almost has a heart attack, along with talking Michael’s ear off- “Wait, what if this is illegal?” “It’s not illegal.” “But I’m outside of New Jersey!” “...It’s not illegal if nobody catches you.” “But what if I…” Eventually, though he gets into the swing of things. Sure, he swerves a little and has to make sure he’s always in the center of the lane- he struggles with that a bit- but he doesn’t hit any cars or anything, or, God forbid, a pedestrian. Before he knows it, he’s just a couple minutes away from the motel; he can see its large yellow sign in the distance. “Michael, we’re almost there, buddy,” he says gently, daring to glance away from the road for a split second to look at Michael.

Michael, exhausted, shifts into a sitting position and looks through the window to see the sign, grinning in relief. “Oh, dang, man, we’re almost there,” he echoes. “I just wanna sleep, Jeremy. Can I go to sleep when we get there?”

Jeremy chuckles. “It’s not even 8:30, dude. Are you sure?”

“Well, what am I supposed to do if not sleep?”

“...That’s fair,” Jeremy says with a shrug. “We… probably shouldn’t, um, cuddle.” The word sounds weird on his tongue, emasculating as hell, but it is what it is.

“For the first time in my life, I really,  _ really  _ don’t want to cuddle with you,” Michael says. “If you want me to sleep in the bathroom, I-”

“What? No, don’t sleep in the bathroom, you’ll kill your back.” Jeremy sighs. “Just… sleep in bed with me, alright?” He ruffles Michael’s hair, no longer sweaty. “You’ll thank me later.”

And later, when Michael is nearly asleep, turned away from Jeremy and not shaking at all anymore, he does.

“You’re welcome,” Jeremy whispers, smiling gently as he rubs Michael’s arm. “G’night, bud.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry my life is kinda crazy right now so updates will just be sporadic lol but i'll try to do them monday and thursday. no promises though  
tw for self-harm/cutting after '[...] like he always does. it's not working.'

_ “Cheryl, we can’t keep doing this.” _

_ It’s exactly four months before Jeremy’s thirteenth birthday. He pretends to be asleep in his bed, given that it’s going on 11:00 at night and he has school tomorrow, but morbid curiosity has sunk into him, and his eyes are cracked open the slightest bit as he listens to the fighting coming from above him. _

_ “Then why do you keep picking fights about the most asinine things?” _

_ “I’m not the one who picks the fights! Look, I just wanted Jeremy to not freak out over his homework, so I let him take a break-” _

_ Oh. They’re fighting over him again. It’s probably the worst kind of fight- Jeremy doesn’t want any part in this, and he certainly doesn’t want his father to get yelled at for doing something nice for him. He’s a good guy. But this problem was from three hours ago- have they been letting it simmer until he went to bed? If only they’d had the grace to do that when he was younger. _

_ “You knew I was working with him! I always work with him!” _

_ “Well, maybe so, but you didn’t have to yell at him to get back to work! He’s just a kid. Don’t be so hard on him.” _

_ “That assignment is huge, and it’s due tomorrow, Andrew. Don’t give me that shit.” _

Well, I finished it anyway, you didn’t have to work me that hard,  _ Jeremy wants to scream, but he keeps his mouth shut.  _

_ “I’m not giving you any shit, Cheryl, I’m just saying…” _

_ “Well, maybe you should say a little less.” _

_ Futilely, Jeremy wills his mother to be silent, wills that the two of them would stop fighting so he could have even the slightest chance of falling asleep. _

_ “Why do you have to be so cruel? Every day is another fight with you. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. ...Maybe we should get a divorce.” _

_ Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat, and immediately, his stomach starts to twist itself in knots.  _ Jesus Christ,  _ he thinks,  _ a divorce, a divorce, a divorce…

_ When he was younger, he wished for it. He  _ wanted  _ them to get a divorce so he wouldn’t have to deal with being yelled at and hearing all that fighting all the time. He’d stopped thinking that way, though, that his mother was mean and cruel and scary, since she’d sorta gotten better… or maybe he’d gotten a little less insufferable and easy to yell at. After all, he used to be kind of a rude kid, since he didn’t know any better. _

_ But now… now it’s scary, even terrifying; he doesn’t want to be a child of divorce, he doesn’t want to go through with the fighting and the lawyers, he just wants to cry- and he is, soundlessly, tears dripping into his eyes as he lies on his side.  _ You’re pathetic,  _ he chides himself.  _ Pussy.  _ He wants to reach out to someone, but he doesn’t have a phone or a laptop, and the desktop computer is upstairs- _

_ Upstairs. Right. _

_ Even though he knows it’ll hurt, Jeremy tunes back into the argument upstairs, and immediately, he wishes he hadn’t. _

_ “We’re way past divorce, Andrew; half the time, I want to kill myself-” _

_ Oh. _

_ ...Oh. _

_ Jeremy trembles. A sob wracks his skinny body, and he hopes and prays to a God he barely believes in that she’s kidding, that she’s not serious, that he’s not going to wake up someday to see his mother’s pale, lifeless body clutching an empty orange bottle in her fingers… _

Shit. _ Bile rises into Jeremy’s throat at the thought. He wants the world to go away, aches for it, aching for his mother to be fine and good and not so fucked up and- _

_ “Cheryl, please seek help-” _

_ “I got help! I saw a therapist for two years-” _

_ “I can’t do this anymore,” Jeremy whispers. _

_ He can’t do this anymore. _

“Good news, Jeremy. You were right about me feeling better in the morning.”

Jeremy, nearly an adult now, is sitting on the edge of his bed, scratching his (pathetically hairless) chest with sleepy fingers while Michael gets changed across the room from him. “That’s great,” he says, gladness not showing through nearly enough in his tired voice. “You gonna be able to drive?”

Michael nods. “Yeah, I should be good. Sorry you had to deal with me puking fifty percent of my body weight into a Walgreens toilet.”

Jeremy chuckles at that. “Don’t even worry about it, man; it’s the least I could do. Glad you’re feelin’ better.” He’s about to open his mouth to say something more- something like ‘Sorry my driving was shitty’ or ‘Sorry I freaked out’- but a sudden thought has anxiety curling in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, frowning as he tugs his shirt down- a simple black tee with some obscure band logo that Jeremy doesn’t recognize. “What’s with the face?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Uh, it’s nothing.” Except it  _ isn’t  _ nothing. The past couple days, after that initial shock of fright and nerves, had felt like a dream, but now… now everything is real. Less than ten hours before he sees his mother again.

Michael snaps him out of it when he beans him in the head with a t-shirt, at which Jeremy grunts. “Checkout is soon, duder. We should get going. You coming?”

“I just woke up,” Jeremy protests weakly. He wriggles into the shirt, a plain yellow one, and gestures for Michael to toss him a pair of shorts, which he does. He’d forgotten his toothbrush at the first motel, and he doesn’t have the energy to take a shower right now- and, let’s be real, it would probably turn into a forty-five-minute dissociation session, just like they used to- so he’s going to be grungy all day, but whatever. It’s not like he’s gonna go in his Saturday best to see his shitty estranged mother.

That thought sends him into a spiral of anxiety again, because every second that ticks away is one second closer to her, and he’s staring through Michael at the door, trying to will it out of existence and keep them trapped here forever, because, if they leave, he’s going to see her; he’s going to come face-to-face with her, and he can’t  _ do  _ that, he wants her to be out of his life for real because he’s done with being scared, except he’s  _ not,  _ because he’s terrified-

“- at me, dude?” Michael asks, frowning. “Is watching me put my pants on really that titillating?”

Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, trying to clear it, but it doesn’t work. “Sorry, what?”

“Why are you staring at me?” Michael repeats. Instinctively, he crosses his arms, covering his chest. 

“Oh,” Jeremy says simply. “I’m just- I’m not staring at you, I’m just a little…” He taps his temple. “Out of it.”

The defensive frown on Michael’s face melts into a look of sympathy, and he sits down next to Jeremy on the floral bedspread. “You worried about tonight?” he asks.

Jeremy hates to admit it, but it’s impossible to lie about this with the condition he’s obviously in. Instead, he nods and says, “I don’t know, it’s just… I really don’t want to talk to her. I finally got her out of my life, y’know? I don’t even know why I agreed to come.”

“You wanna know what I think?” Michael asks as he puts a hand on Jeremy’s back, not rubbing it, just holding it there like an anchor. Jeremy nods. “I think you want closure. I think you want to tell her how you feel, because now you’re the one in control. She’s given power to you by apologizing.”

“Man, you sound like a therapist,” Jeremy says after a moment of consideration. “Where’d you learn all that smart stuff?”

“I’m just a smart person. You know that. You’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, because you  _ are,”  _ Jeremy says. “I think you stole all the smarts from me and added them to yourself, and that’s why I’m such a notorious dipshit.”

Michael ruffles Jeremy’s hair lovingly. “You’re not a dipshit!” He pauses. “Well, not  _ that  _ much of a dipshit. Maybe just sorta goofy.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Anyway, look. You can do this, okay? You’ve come all this way; you can’t just give up now,” Michael says. “Plus, it would be a waste of gas and motel and food money.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” Jeremy says. “Okay. Okay, I can do this, it’s just- you gotta be there for me, okay? Because I can assure you that this isn’t the only time I’ll freak out today.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “If I would give up on you for being stupid and anxious, we wouldn’t have been friends for more than a week.” Despite his teasing words, the smile he gives Jeremy is kind, open. It’s a promise.

“Thanks, man,” Jeremy whispers, from the heart.

“Always,” Michael whispers back. Then, louder: “...Dweebus.”

“Hey, now!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

The car is quiet again, just like it was on the first day. The thrum of the machinery beneath him is a little comforting to Jeremy, but it’s still not enough. He turns up the music.

“I don’t know if she’ll recognize me,” he says eventually, barely above a whisper.

Michael blinks and turns off the music. “Can’t hear ya, bud.”

“I don’t know if she’ll recognize me,” Jeremy repeats, voice louder this time.

“Well, you’re still the skinny, pasty Jeremy you were back in the seventh grade,” Michael says. Maybe he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation. More likely, he’s trying to bring some levity, like he always does. It’s not working.

“I didn’t have as many scars,” Jeremy says quietly. Acne scars, sure, he’s got a shit ton of those, but don’t play dumb; this is about the ones from-

The ones from-

Unfolded paper clips at first. Then safety pins (ha, ha.) That was when she was still there. Sometime during freshman year, he’d moved onto scissors, and then a Swiss army knife with his name on it (literally, it says ‘Jeremy’. But maybe it was made for him, too, like destiny- meant for his skin. He’ll never know. It’s nothing useful to daydream about.) He uses boxcutters sometimes now; brutal, yes, but effective.

He’d never really thought consciously about stopping. Sometimes he just did it for a couple months, then fell out of the habit, but then he’d find some new reason to hurt himself: doing poorly in math, feeling ignored at home, just… feeling like it. He’s prone to addiction, his therapist has informed him. As it turns out, self harm falls under the category of addictive behaviors.

“She’s really not gonna recognize  _ you,”  _ Jeremy says a few silent minutes later. He’s not exactly sure if it’s the right thing to say, but it’s something.

Michael takes it as a compliment, though. “Hey, I’ve put a lot of work into looking like this,” gesturing with one hand to his entire body before he puts it back on the wheel. “I’d be pretty upset if she  _ did  _ recognize me.”

“You look really good, man,” Jeremy says, and chuckles. He got scars, and Michael just got handsome. It’s what they both deserve.

“You do, too. She’ll be sad she left you.”

Jeremy doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

There’s another few hours of moderate silence, broken only by Michael cursing at a traffic jam from an accident and Jeremy humming along to the music that blares from the speakers to keep himself occupied. Eventually, Michael reaches out to rub Jeremy’s arm and says, “Hey, man, we’re about an hour away from Nacogdoches.”

The name rolls smoothly off of Michael’s tongue and stabs like a knife into Jeremy’s chest. “Oh,” he says, voice hushed. “So we are.” His body stiffens, and his breathing shallows at the contraction of his chest. An hour away. God. “I thought we were getting there at eight.”

“We should have, but we skipped lunch,” Michael points out. “Which reminds me- we have some snacks left, right? Some peach rings?”

“I don’t think you even touched them,” Jeremy says numbly. “You were too busy puking.” Again, the levity. He twists around and grabs the plastic convenience store bag from behind Michael’s seat, taking the bag of peach rings and opening it before putting it on the cupholders, where it lies shakily, barely balancing. “Here.”

“Hella,” Michael says, and grabs a couple rings from the bag, chewing as quietly as possible as he pops them in his mouth. 

“I don’t think you’re using that word right.” A hint of a smile appears on Jeremy’s face despite himself.

Michael shrugs. “I’m not here to be hip, man,” he says after swallowing. “...Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Jeremy echoes.

“You were so cheerful yesterday… for parts of it, I mean,” Michael says. “Maybe you could get there again.”

“I appreciate the therapy tactics, but yesterday, I wasn’t an hour away from seeing my mother.”

“Yeah, I figured it’d be a long shot.” Michael sighs. “Look, I know there’s nothing I can say to make this feel alright, but I can at least try to distract you, maybe put some music on or something…”

“Yeah, man. Could we sing?” Jeremy asks after a few moments. “I think that might be nice.” Maybe it could distract him for a while, but he’d sure as hell need a pep talk later, he already knows that. Michael’s pep talks are pretty much the best, all due apologies to his father and his therapist- they’re decent, but their motivational speeches leave something to be desired.

Michael nods and says, “Just press play.”

Jeremy moves the bag of peach rings out of the way for a second as he follows Michael’s instructions. Immediately, music fills the car, and Jeremy relaxes slightly as the music starts to throb around him. “Thanks, man,” he says quietly between the verses of Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love”. Anxiety still stabs at him like spikes in a retro video game, but, as the beat moves him, he can sense the tension leaving his taut back, and that’s a small kindness from the universe, he’d like to think.

“You’ll be alright,” Michael says, and rubs Jeremy’s shoulder with a gentle hand. “Seriously- I promise.”

“I sure hope so,” Jeremy mumbles.

They pass the city limits.

Jeremy is in Nacogdoches. 

He tenses, and he can sense Michael stiffening as well, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. It’s like a dream and the most real thing he’s ever experienced all at once, like… like he’s already died, or he’s seconds away from death, but his brain has kept moving, mind untethered, and it’s not quite real. He stares blankly ahead, barely registering the movement of the car or the sounds of the music or the chirping of the birds outside, all he can feel is the Texas heat, Christ it’s hot, why isn’t the AC on, Michael, turn on the AC, please, Michael, turn on the AC-

Michael turns on the AC. “...Better?” he asks.

With a spark of shame, Jeremy realizes he was speaking out loud. Voice low, affect flat, he says, “Better.”

After a few minutes, Michael pulls over to the side of the road. “We’re here,” he says gently. “That turn up there, that’s her street.” He speaks like he’s talking to a kindergartener, but that’s okay. Jeremy can’t find the strength to be upset about that right now. 

“We’re here,” he echoes, deep in dissociation and unable to come up with words of his own.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Michael says, a direct inverse of what he’d said just hours earlier. “If this is too much for you, if it’s too bad, if  _ she’s  _ too bad- we don’t have to do this. You’re a victim, Jeremy; you don’t have to face the person who hurt you.”

And him being acknowledged as a victim, identifying the big bad monster that truly ruined him, wrecks Jeremy. It wrecks him. It claws at him from the inside out until he’s sitting there in the car, bawling, finally able to feel some emotion- or at least express it- and he’s sobbing because, Jesus Christ, he’s a victim, that’s the first time- the first time someone had said- he’s a victim of a broken childhood and of a broken mother and of a life that didn’t want to be kind to him, and maybe he’ll get a good enough apology but there’s a good chance he won’t, there’s a good chance that it will never be enough, because he finally knows what he is now.

He is Jeremy Heere. He is seventeen years old. He is bisexual, he is Jewish, he is borderline, he is a high school graduate, he is a singer. He is Jeremy Heere, and he is a victim.

He is realizing that Michael is talking.

“-mean to upset you, I swear on my life I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry I said the wrong thing-”

“No, stop it,” Jeremy says, voice ragged with tears. “You said the right thing. Nobody’s- nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

“...That you don’t have to do this? I told you that the other day.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “No, no, calling me a victim.”

“Of course you’re a victim, Jeremy,” Michael says, frowning. “Why else would you feel like this?”

“She was getting better. I couldn’t call myself a victim because she was getting better.”

“‘Better’?” Michael repeats. “She still lashed out at you over the most unpredictable stuff. Just because she wasn’t getting in fights with you and your dad every day, doesn’t mean she was a perfect person.”

“But she was getting better,” Jeremy says, a desperate protest to make himself as small as possible. “She was just… she was just depressed.”

Michael runs his fingers through Jeremy’s hair, threading them through the dark strands. “That doesn’t make you any less valid.”

“Valid?”

“Yeah, valid. You’re a victim, Jeremy. But… you’re also a survivor,” Michael says. “You survived thirteen and a half years of her… weird angry bullshit. That takes strength, Jeremy.”

A survivor. Jesus, he learns something new every day, even now.

“Do you want to go in?” Michael asks. “Because it’s okay if you don’t. But you have seventeen and 11/12ths of a year under your belt, and I know for damn sure you can do this.”

Jeremy wipes his eyes, dragging a long streak of tears along his forearm. “You’re really sure?” he asks.

“Sure as shit, man.”

Jeremy knows he doesn’t have any choice. Sure, physically, he does, but mentally, he could never live with himself if he didn’t take a stand right then and there. “Let’s go,” he says, and they do.

Jeremy said he wouldn’t do anything romantic with Michael until everything with his mother was taken care of, but, as they walk up his mother’s driveway (you park in a driveway and drive in a parkway, isn’t that funny?), he can’t help but grab his hand.

Michael squeezes it, a silent  _ I’ve got you, homie,  _ and Jeremy faintly, faintly smiles.

He reaches the door, old and slightly chipped. He stares. He doesn’t knock. He just… stares.

“Jeremy?” Michael asks, nudging him with one shoulder.

Jeremy swallows sharply, nods, and raps at the door.

A beat. Two beats. 

The door opens.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teebeeaych i would rewrite this chapter if i could and if i ever get way into bmc again maybe i will. that said i hope ny'all like it lol here we go.

_ “And here’s Madonna with  _ Like a Virgin!”

_ When he’s thirteen years old, Jeremy’s life gets flipped upside down. Oddly enough, though, the day starts off fine. He blinks awake on a Sunday morning in March to hear Madonna’s voice on the radio on his nightstand, always tuned to one of the 80s top hits stations. He gives a big yawn, stretches, and runs a hand through his hair. Usually he sits around for at least half an hour after waking up, but it’s getting sorta late- around 11:30- and he’s hungry, so he rolls out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a soft  _ thump. 

_ As he trots downstairs, Jeremy thinks over in his mind what’s in the cupboard that’s suitable for a meal: a box of granola bars that are, eh, pretty decent; a couple boxes of minute rice, if he feels like actually making something… He’s so lost in thought that he almost doesn’t hear the crying coming from the living room. “...Dad?” he calls out hesitantly. _

_ His father is sitting on the couch, clad in nothing but a robe and a dirty t-shirt (and boxers, of course.) Jeremy never knows what to do in these situations; maybe he never will. He’s seen his dad cry a lot, and it makes him sad, too, but he’s not really sure how he can help. After all, his dad is four times his age- how’s Jeremy supposed to know how to deal with adult problems? With no other option, he simply takes a seat next to his father on the couch. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning over to peek at his father’s face, which is obscured by his trembling hands. _

_ “It’s your- it’s your mother, Jeremy,” Jeremy's father chokes out finally. He opens his mouth again to say something more, but all that comes out is a muffled sob. _

_ Jeremy’s blood runs cold. “Mom? I-is she okay?” he asks, but his father gives him no further information, just sits there, shaking. Jeremy jumps to his feet, alarm bells sounding loud and clear in his head. What does that mean? Is she hurt? Does she need help? What if she’s dead? He runs over to the basement stairs and calls, “Mom?” There’s no answer. Jeremy frowns, then runs back across the main floor to the steps that lead upstairs and tries again. “Mom…?” _

_ “She’s not here, Jeremy,” Jeremy's father says from the living room. His voice is deep, sunken from crying. _

_ Jeremy pauses, blinks. “...You don’t mean…?” Oh, God, so she wasn’t just blowing smoke. She actually- “Dad, did she leave? For good?” _

_ “That’s what she said. I-” _

_ It’s as if a switch is flipped in Jeremy’s head. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s turning away from his father and toward the front door. He’s still in pajamas, a loose top and fuzzy fleece pants- perhaps a bit too warm for the nice weather they’ve been having- but he unlocks it anyway, hands shaking as he twists his wrist and pulls it open. The sun is blinding, shining there unforgivingly in the spring sky. Jeremy faintly hears his father calling out for him, but he doesn’t turn back. _

_ Jeremy’s heart pounds in his chest, as does the slapping  _ thud  _ of his footsteps as he runs barefoot down the driveway and into the street. He barely knows where he’s going, only that he needs to go, he needs to run run run, run away from the problem that is- was- his mother, a third of his family, one of his own damn parents just walking out on them.  _

Thud, _ beat,  _ thud,  _ beat. _

_ It doesn’t take him long to reach his final destination. Of course this is where he’d end up. Of course. Where else? Jeremy presses the doorbell in a rough, exhausted slap, then pounds at the door.  _

_ There’s a few seconds of quiet, then shuffling feet, before the door swings open. “Jeremy!” Michael exclaims, audibly excited at first before confusion and concern hits him. “What’s wrong?” _

_ For the first time that day, a tear drips from Jeremy’s eye, sliding silently down his face as he looks up at Michael. “Mom,” he whispers. “It’s Mom.” _

“Jeremy… oh, wow, you really came.”

Jeremy looks up at his mother, Cheryl Thatcher, who he hasn’t seen in five years, who made his life hell, who he remembers as a tyrant instilling fear in the subconscious of her husband and son. She looks… different. More tired. Dark bags linger under her eyes- did she always have those? She holds a cigarette loosely in one hand, which is definitely something she’s picked up since she left.

Cheryl blinks, looking Jeremy up and down as if she expected him to look the same from thirteen to nearly eighteen. She takes a drag off her cigarette, blows out grey smoke, and gestures to Michael with a nod of her head. “Who’s this?”

As he remembers that he’s still holding Michael’s hand, Jeremy drops it, nearly frozen with apprehension.

“Who else would it be?” Michael asks.

Frowning, Cheryl thinks for a long moment. “...Maya?” she answers hesitantly, and Michael nods.

“His name is Michael now,” Jeremy corrects her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. This is gonna be fun to explain.

Cheryl is silent for a while, analytical eyes stuck to Michael now, but she eventually shrugs it off. “Well. You two should come inside.”

Jeremy is nearly too frazzled to touch the mezuzah; he does it numbly. There’s a narrow hallway connecting the foyer to the kitchen and living room, and Jeremy starts down it after kicking his shoes off where Cheryl’s are placed neatly in a row. Cheryl follows soon after, and Jeremy can feel her piercing gaze on the back of his neck. He shivers.

Eventually, he makes his way to a dingy, tan couch and sits down on it, crossing his lanky legs. There’s a sleek, grey-furred cat seated on the back that doesn’t seem to notice them at all. A moment later, Cheryl sits at his left, and Michael at his right. There’s a looming, heavily uncomfortable silence for what feels like ages- probably more like two minutes in reality- before Cheryl stands up and says, “I’ll go make dinner.”

“Sounds good,” Jeremy says, realizing with a start that neither he nor Michael have eaten all day. He stares at Cheryl’s back as she leaves the room and heads to the kitchen, walking stiffly, then turns to Michael when he taps him on the shoulder.

Whispering so they’re not overheard, Michael says, “She seems more mellow now.”

“She seems…” Jeremy thinks on it for a moment. “Depressed,” he continues, his words a bit hesitant.

“But I thought she gets angry when she’s depressed,” Michael says, cocking his head. “That’s what you told me.”

“Maybe she doesn’t have anyone to get angry at anymore. I thought maybe she’d have a boyfriend or a husband or something.”

“She’s got a cat,” Michael points out, nodding his head toward the furry critter that’s sat up and is now licking its front paw with a low, humming purr.

“That’s not really what I mean,” Jeremy says, although the cat  _ is  _ pretty cute. “Maybe she tired herself out being angry and now all she has left is sadness.”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “Wow, that’s deep, Jeremy.”

“Yeah, I felt stupid saying it.”

Michael chuckles, but falls silent when Cheryl comes back, walking past them through the living room and a small archway into the dining room. “Dinner’s ready,” she says, and places two bowls of visibly reheated spaghetti on the table. “I already ate, so…”

Michael nudges Jeremy again and whispers, “I see she prepared well.” 

Jeremy snickers, but Cheryl just looks on with confusion and a sour expression at being left out. Jeremy holds back a spiteful frown.

Cheryl sits across from the two of them as they settle into their chairs, staring at them with inquisitive eyes. 

Jeremy glances, a little nervous, at Michael, who shares his look, grimacing almost unnoticeably. 

“...So,” Cheryl asks, “you’re starting senior year?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Uh, I’m seventeen, and Michael is eighteen already,” he says. “We graduated. We’re gonna be freshmen in college.”

Cheryl frowns, looking a little embarrassed at her blatant lack of knowledge about her own son, and Jeremy regards her with mild contempt. “Ah, right,” she says. “Well, where are you going? What do you want to major in?”

_ You should at least know that,  _ Jeremy thinks pointedly.  _ I’ve wanted to be a therapist for years.  _ “We both got accepted to Rider,” he answers. “I’m going into psychology.”

“And I’m going to be in the business program,” Michael says, “for what it’s worth.” His voice is a little strained; Michael never really liked Jeremy’s mother, and is a little afraid of her, though not to the extent that Jeremy himself is.

Cheryl, on the other hand, has always liked Michael- well, she liked Maya, anyway- so she nods, and, for the first time since they arrived, smiles. “Well, both of those sound like great ideas.”

Jeremy nods his thanks in an echo of her movement and says, “Uh… what’ve you been doing these past few years?” He’s a little curious, but he’s mostly just trying to make conversation. The silence is even worse than talking to her.

Meanwhile, Michael chews on his slightly-dry spaghetti.

“I’m still in IT,” Cheryl replies. “I mostly work from home now, though.”

Jeremy nods.  _ I could tell,  _ he thinks, but it’s far too judgemental to say out loud. “...No boyfriends?” he asks instead.

Cheryl shrugs, glances away uncomfortably. “A few. They all left, though.”

Michael glances at Jeremy and raises his eyebrows in a ‘wonder why’ look. “What’s the cat’s name?” he asks.

That gives Cheryl pause. “...Jerry,” she says, but it’s hesitant, faltering. “Like the mouse.”

“She looks a little like Florence,” Jeremy tells Michael, and Michael turns around to look at the cat again before nodding. To his mother, Jeremy adds, “Oh- Florence is my new cat. Well, I’ve had her for a couple years, but… new to you. Wanna see?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cheryl says, and Jeremy fishes his phone out from his pocket and opens his gallery, selecting the album simply labeled with a cat emoji. 

“Here she is,” he says, and hands Cheryl the phone. A smile spreads across her face as she scrolls through copious amounts of pictures, each featuring a furry blue ball of chaos.

“Aw, she’s pretty cute,” she says. “Not as cute as my Jerry, but…”

“Be careful, she’d maul you if she heard you say that,” Michael laughs. “She’s a real prima donna.”

“If I’m not paying attention to her literally 24/7, she yells at me,” Jeremy says, “and I mean  _ yells.”  _

All three of them have a good laugh at that.

Oddly enough, Jeremy finds that there isn’t really much to talk about. They went over their summer plans, they went over what he and Michael are doing for college, they went over their new cats… There’s a small bit of idle chit-chat, but there’s a long period of silence that stretches nearly to 8:00 in the evening. Eventually, Michael senses Jeremy’s discomfort and antsiness, fakes a yawn, and says, “This has been really great, Ms., um…”

“Thatcher,” Jeremy says.

“Ms. Thatcher, but uh, Jeremy and I are pretty tired, y’know, so…”

Jeremy nods. “Yeah, we should probably get to bed.”

Cheryl frowns. “It’s only 8:00,” she points out, gesturing toward the clock.

“Well, we’ve been up a long time,” Jeremy lies. Truth be told, they’ve only been up for around ten hours. “Sorry, Mom. We can talk more tomorrow. Uh, is there somewhere we can sleep?”

“There’s a guest bedroom,” Cheryl says, “but there’s only one bed, so if May...chael is okay with sleeping on a couch or something…”

Jeremy shakes his head a little too vigorously. “No, one bed is fine,” he says, and Michael turns to hide a chuckle.

Cheryl looks like she’s about to say something, but after a moment, she just shrugs. “Well, it’s up to you.”

Jeremy and Michael grab their suitcases from where they’ve deposited them by the front door and carry them up the narrow staircase. Jeremy can take his by the handle and carry it, but Michael needs to drag his, wheels  _ thump-thump-thump _ ing on the shaggy brown carpet. “Good Lord, did you put bricks in there?” Jeremy teases.

“Ugh, shut it,” Michael says. “It’s just my guitar. I wanted to jam out some tunes while I was here.”

“You haven’t played it a single time yet.”

“I’ll get to it! ...Eventually.”

“Mm-hmm, sure.”

Jeremy is genuinely exhausted, so, while Michael unpacks his behemoth of a suitcase, he flops into bed. It’s surprisingly comfy, which is a great relief; he’s sick to bastard death of those creaky motel beds. He takes off his shirt, balls it up, and tosses it at the back of Michael’s head.

“Why are you like this?” Michael asks.

“Dunno,” Jeremy answers, sliding off his pants. “Come over.”

“Jeezers, duder, I’m trying to get my pajamas on. I’m not just gonna lay there with my whole titty nipples out.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep back a small laugh. “Yeah, alright, weirdo.”

“Well, I’m not!” Michael takes his binder off and pulls on a plain white tee and some pajama shorts, then grabs a bottle of pills from his suitcase. “You’re really planning on going to bed now, right?” he asks. “‘Cuz I brought some melatonin, so I can conk out whenevz.”

“You can stay up if you want,” Jeremy says. “I dunno, read one of those hugeass books that you’ve been saying you’ll read for, like, twelve years.”

“Why do you treat me like this, man?” Michael asks, but his smile betrays his teasing manner. “So rude.”

“Aw, don’t worry, I still love you,” Jeremy says as he gets under the covers. “Yeah, though, I’m super beat. I always get sleepy when I cry, and I, uh, did a lot of that today.” Hopefully there aren’t any tear streaks left on his face.

Michael grabs his water bottle out from a small pocket on the front of his suitcase and takes a couple melatonin pills. He runs a hand through his hair, sighs, then gets up and heads over to the bed. After he gets beneath the covers alongside Jeremy, he raises one arm a bit and says, “C’mere, bud.”

Jeremy’s finally getting used to the concept of being held, because, while it’s… very emasculating (yes, he’s aware he has issues, and he’s trying to work through them), he still really, really loves it, man. Wordlessly, he wriggles over and allows Michael to sling an arm around him, smiling as he tucks his face into the crook of his neck. He’s still for a couple moments before something dawns on him, and he frowns. “Michael, you didn’t turn the lights out,” he grumbles.

“Shh, just go to sleep,” Michael says in return. “I’m too lazy to turn it off.”

Jeremy groans. “But it’s  _ weird.  _ You’re not supposed to sleep with the lights on; you’ll get skin cancer.”

“Oh, my God, Jeremy, you are the most neurotic person I know.”

Finally, Jeremy gives in, surrendering himself to the possibility of melanomas. This is gonna be a hell of a few days, and he needs all the sleep he can get. At least Michael is here; cute guys make life worth living. They make the future seem less scary, and God, is it scary.

But this isn’t the time to linger on that. For now, it’s time to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i PROMISE michael isnt one of Those business majors im just pretty sure youre supposed to be a business major if youre gonna open a record shop which has always been my headcanon. michael is a staunch anti-capitalist and that Is the hill i'll die on


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY remembered to update this damn fic

_ “Are you nervous, Jeremy?” _

_ Jeremy, who’s about a month away from his thirteenth birthday, sits in a firm, grey chair, waiting for a Dr. Andersen, who will fix all his problems or something. Yeah, he doesn’t really buy it. But, as a child of divorce, he’s obligated to go to at least one therapy session. It’s like a coming of age thing or whatever. He glances over at his father, who’s looking at him expectantly, and answers, “Not really.” _

_ Jeremy’s father doesn’t seem convinced, and a frown crosses his face. Still, he says nothing. _

_ Jeremy looks back at his magazine-  _ People,  _ because he likes to test himself on what celebrities he knows, or, at least, it’s better than doing nothing- and doesn’t take his eyes from it again. Truth is, he  _ is  _ a little nervous. The concept of going to therapy seems so… life-changing, and not in a good way. He didn’t want to believe that anything was wrong with him, but after this, he’s always going to be The Guy Who Goes to Therapy or The Guy Who Needs Help With His Weird Brain or The Guy Who Has Something Wrong With Him. Even if nobody else would ever find out, he has to live with that. _

_ Not only that, but he doesn’t really know what to talk about. Obviously, there was the whole issue of his mom walking out on him and his father, but after the initial shock, he wasn’t really that stressed about it. Jeremy always liked his father better anyway- yeah, he could be a little nosy sometimes, but he’s a sweet guy, and Jeremy appreciates how laid-back he is. Plus, he feels a little bad for him. His father usually got the brunt of his mother’s wrath, and it’s not like she was easy on Jeremy, either. _

_ Jeremy starts as his father wraps an arm around him. “It’s gonna be alright, bud,” his father says. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve heard lots of good things about this doctor. I looked at a few ‘rate your therapist’ sites, and there weren’t any complaints.” Even though he’d fallen into a depression, he still cared so much about Jeremy- at least, as much as he could in the depths of his morosity. Jeremy understands; if Michael left or something, he would be the same way. Of course, Michael is about a trillion times nicer than his mother, but the point still stands. _

_ Jeremy’s father has moved on to patting him on the shoulder when the door next to the front desk opens. Behind it stands a man about his father’s age, with salt-and-pepper hair and a beard to match- tastefully trimmed, not Marx-style. “You must be Jeremy,” he says as he approaches, and, to Jeremy’s father, “Ah, and Andrew. Good to meet you both.” He sticks out his hand, and Jeremy hesitantly stands up to shake it. “If you want to come back to my office, we can start the session. I’d like to take a little time to get to know you.” _

_ “Do you want me to come back with you?” Jeremy’s father asks. _

_ Jeremy shakes his head. “No, no, I’m… good,” he answers. He tenses as he walks toward the door, and pauses when he gets to the threshold as Dr. Andersen holds it open for him. He gives a final glance back at his father, then takes a breath, seals his fate, and walks through. _

“Jeremy, Michael, I made breakfast.”

Jeremy, only about three-quarters awake, is checking his social media with tired eyes when he hears his mother’s voice and looks up. “Oh, cool, thanks,” he says, and yawns. “I’ll be down in a second.” Truth be told, he was a little startled; he’d forgotten where he was and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

In a quick minute, he and Michael are walking into the small kitchen, thankfully not getting lost on the way. It’s a pretty small house, or, at least, smaller than Jeremy’s, which makes sense, since she’s presumably been the only one living there for the past five years.

“‘Morning,” Michael says, and Cheryl returns the sentiment with a nod. 

“Food’s on the table.”

“Cool, cool,” Jeremy says, but he’s less enthusiastic when he sees what his mother’s made: just simple toast and jam.  _ You called me down for this?,  _ he’s tempted to ask, but refrains.

The only sound for a few minutes is the munching of toast, but eventually, Cheryl speaks up. “So, what’s up with all… this?” She gestures to Michael.

Michael frowns for a moment, confused. He blinks, then, and says, “Oh, uh…” He nudges Jeremy, and he turns from his mother to Michael. “Is she supportive of this stuff?” Michael asks, quietly enough for Cheryl to not hear him. “Transgender stuff?”

“I have no idea. I’m sorry.”

“Will you back me up if she isn’t?”

Jeremy laughs- it’s a ludicrous question. “Of course I will.”

Michael nods. “Alright, thanks.” Turning back to Cheryl, he says, “So, uh, I’m transgender. When I was born, they thought I was a girl- well, you already know that- but, like, I’m a guy. So I changed my name, and people use he pronouns for me- unless they suck- and I bind my chest and stuff and wear guys’ clothes, because I, uh, am a guy.”

` Cheryl nods slowly, taking in the possibly startling information. “Uh-huh. Well, alright, I can do that,” she says, and leaves it there. Jeremy might actually have to engage her in fisticuffs if she said something transphobic to Michael, although, with his scrawny body shape, there’s really nothing he can do. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try… He shrugs it off and thanks God for small miracles.

“Well… on a completely different note, do you wanna go on a walk later, Jeremy?” Cheryl asks. 

Michael doesn’t seem to mind the exclusion; he simply continues to munch on his toast.

Jeremy, on the other hand, hesitates. He hasn’t been alone with his mother in five years; what if he’s only kept his cool so far because of Michael? He was flipping between crying and dissociating yesterday, and he would hate to risk that again. Talking to her the previous night was alright, though, so he can do it… maybe. She doesn’t seem too terribly hostile, although plenty of her outbursts are sudden… “Yeah, sure,” Jeremy says, settling on taking the risk. 

Michael gives him a look that says  _ You got this, bud,  _ and Jeremy smiles back at him.

“Let’s go soon, then. It gets hot as hell in the summer here; it takes some getting used to,” Cheryl says. 

Jeremy nods. It can get decently hot in New Jersey, but Texas, of course, is notorious for its unbearable summers. At least it isn’t as humid as Florida or Louisiana, though; he’ll count his blessings. “Yeah, just let me finish my toast,” he says, and goes back to eating.

Cheryl wasn’t wrong about the heat. Even though it’s only 11:30 in the morning, Jeremy is sweating; even his short sleeves and jean shorts don’t help. “Good Lord,” he mutters, and if Cheryl hears him, she doesn’t respond.

Instead, she says, “We should talk.”

“...In public?” Jeremy asks. “I dunno if I’m comfortable with that.” There’s no way they’d be able to sort out all their problems without at least some mild yelling, even on Jeremy’s part. 

Cheryl shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to catch up.”

“Well, alright,” Jeremy says, though his hands twitch with apprehension. “What d’you wanna know?”

“How was high school?” Cheryl asks. “Was it alright? I know you were worried.”

Jeremy pauses, walking silently for a few paces. High school… wasn’t fantastic. In fact, high school was shit, and he had never been more glad than when the dismissal bell rang on their very last day of senior year. He and Michael had run to each other, pushing through the hordes of excited students, and embraced right there in the hallway; it was a blessing that their more vicious bullies hadn’t been there to witness it, lest he call them queers.

“It was… alright,” Jeremy lies. “I dunno. I got good grades freshman and senior year, and I did well on the SATs.” He doesn’t talk about how freshman year was hell, how his father was still too crushed by post-divorce depression to be there for him beyond carting him off to therapy, how he was still getting bullied for being “weird” and having a weirdly touchy-feely relationship with his best friend.

Cheryl exhales, relieved. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you,” she says, and her tone is so genuine that Jeremy nearly bursts into tears, as he does so often.

“It’s fine,” he says, but he begins to slouch, footsteps dragging. Cheryl pats him on the shoulder, and he tenses again, back stiffening. Logically, he knows that she wouldn’t hurt him- not in public- and that she never really has, but God, he hates the touch. But, he grins and bears it until she takes it away, and holds back a sigh of relief when she does.

“You, uh… you have any girlfriends?” Cheryl asks.

Jeremy shakes his head. Of  _ course  _ he hadn’t. How he managed to actually get a romantic prospect now is beyond him- not that he’s complaining. But, no, he’d never been with any girls before. It’s shameful to admit, but his kiss with Michael the other night was his very first. 

“...Any boyfriends?” Cheryl continues, and Jeremy almost chokes. Michael was brave enough to come out to her, but that’s because he had to; Jeremy would rather remain stealth for a little while longer.

“Oh, uh, no,” he answers. “I’m not… into that lifestyle.” It’s probably his most unconvincing lie yet, a pitiful attempt at heterosexuality, and Cheryl raises her eyebrows in disbelief. Great.

They continue with the idle chatting for a while, Jeremy asking equally as shallow and vague questions, until they’ve looped around the neighborhood and arrive back at Cheryl’s house. Jeremy tries not to hurry up the driveway and through the door, not wanting to be rude, but he sorta does, and he heads into the living room as soon as he’s inside.

Michael is sitting on the floor as he plays with Jerry, stroking its soft grey fur and laughing when it moves to bite and kick at him. “Yo,” he greets Jeremy as he approaches. “How was it?”

“Fine,” Jeremy says simply as he takes a seat next to Michael on the golden-brown carpet and scratches Jerry’s head. It continues to kick at Michael, but moves its head to bite at Jeremy’s fingers. 

Softly, so that Cheryl doesn’t overhear, Michael asks, “Did you tell her about…?”

“Huh? Oh.” Jeremy shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. Maybe tomorrow.”

Michael pats him on the back, and Jeremy finally allows himself to relax. “Hey, take it easy. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.”

“Eh, she was fine with you being trans, so… I dunno, she’ll probably be fine with me being bi, right?”

“Yeah, probz.” Michael rubs Jerry’s stomach a little more, taking the ugly, flaring scratches in stride, then says, “He’s not named after the mouse, you know.”

Jeremy cocks his head. “Who, Jerry?”

“I looked at the name on his collar. Look.”

Avoiding Jerry’s sharp little teeth, Jeremy grabs its collar to take a look at the shining copper nametag. 

_ Jeremy. _

For dinner, Cheryl orders two pizzas: a vegetarian one for herself and Jeremy, and a personal pepperoni and Canadian bacon one for Michael. After all, they were sitting on the living room floor, so there wasn’t technically meat and dairy at the same  _ table,  _ right?

There’s not as long a wait for conversation this time. Jeremy finds, miraculously, that he’s starting to become more at ease around her after a full 24 hours of being together again. “So, did you… two miss me?” Cheryl asks, adding Michael in at the last moment as if it wasn’t a question entirely for Jeremy.

“Uh… I mean, it was weird not having you around,” Jeremy says, carefully avoiding the question. He didn’t miss her, really, or at least not that often. He loved his father and resented her enough to make up for the times when he missed her.

Michael doesn’t answer, taking a large bite of his pizza instead.

Cheryl nods. “I understand the feeling.”

“...Hey, do you guys wanna watch TV?” Michael asks, no doubt trying to distract from the stifling atmosphere. Jeremy is well aware that Michael knows he never really missed his mother, given that A) he knows Jeremy better than anyone besides his therapist, and B) he pretty much told him explicitly.

“Yeah, sure,” Jeremy says, grateful for a chance to escape the conversation, and Cheryl goes along with it, although it’s clear from the way her mouth turns down at the ends that it wasn’t what she had in mind for the night.

Michael turns on the TV and flips through the channels until he settles on some generic sitcom starring some pretty blonde woman Jeremy’s seen pictures of in  _ People  _ at the therapist’s office.  _ This could be good,  _ he thinks to himself.  _ Better than talking to Mom. _

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop Cheryl from talking about things that make Jeremy’s emotional skin crawl. “I missed you, too,” she says to Jeremy. “A lot.”

With nothing else to do, Jeremy just nods, eyes fixed on the pithy show onscreen.

“And I missed you too, Michael,” Cheryl adds.

“Uhh, I missed you too, Ms. Thatcher,” Michael says, and even dares to make eye contact, although he’s visibly unsettled.

Cheryl smiles at that, a relieved expression on her face. “Glad to hear you still thought about me.”

Jeremy and Michael nod in unison. If she only knew what they really thought of her.

Within a few hours, Jeremy and Michael retreat to the safety of the guest bedroom, away from the tension and awkwardness of Cheryl’s presence. The two of them start, however, when she knocks on the door, opening it without waiting for an answer. “It’s getting late,” she says, “so I’m going to bed.” Sure enough, the alarm clock on the nightstand reads 10:13 P.M. “You two can stay up as long as you want. Just don’t wake me up.”

Jeremy nods, not taking his eyes off of his video game, and replies, “Sounds good.”

Cheryl takes a step away from the door, then pauses and comes back, opening her arms in a gesture Jeremy hasn’t seen from her in years. “C’mere, give me a hug, Jeremy.”

Jeremy wants to refuse, but who knows what chain reaction that could set off? Instead, he steels himself, stands up, and tries to look pleasant as he walks over to his mother. She wraps him in an embrace, holding him tight to her chest, and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut in discomfort.

“G’night, both of you,” Cheryl says, releasing Jeremy after a few seconds. “Make sure to get at least a little sleep tonight, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael says, and salutes jokingly. “G’night.”

“G’night,” Jeremy echoes, and drifts back to bed. He stares dully at his game for a few seconds, then picks the console up off the sheets. “...That was weird,” he says after waiting for Cheryl to leave.

Michael nods. “It was  _ totally  _ weird. Are you okay?”

Shrugging, Jeremy answers, “I dunno. I guess?” He sighs, scratches the back of his neck. “But it’s no big, y’know, whatever.”

“Mm-hmm,” Michael hums. “I’d tell you to be a little more forgiving, but man, I know this lady. She’s not somebody you’re gonna want in your life.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jeremy says. Truth be told, his thoughts are all muddled on the whole thing. He came there so sure that he knew he was going to tell her off, but she’s been so nice. On the other hand, he literally had to be told explicitly that he’s a victim; it’s always easier for an outsider to tell, so he should probably trust Michael, as always. Still, the future is cloudy, and it’s a fog he’ll have to cut through himself.

There’s a silent agreement, then, to go to bed; Cheryl’s innocent gesture had put a damper on the mood. As the two of them fit into the usual arrangement of limbs- Michael’s arm on Jeremy’s waist, Jeremy’s leg hooked around one of Michael’s- Jeremy finds that, even despite the confusion and the swimming thoughts, he’s almost glad he came. In the end, closure is all that matters, and he’ll get it or die trying.

“What’re you thinking about?” Michael asks, eyes barely open.

“Nothing,” Jeremy answers. “Goodnight, Michael.”

“Goodnight.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy second day of hanukkah, it's time to put jeremy through some Emotions.  
mentions of self-harm after "I'm sick, Mom." & then idk if the next part counts as abuse but if youre triggered by abuse You Will Not Have Fun. tread lightly

_ “I don’t know what I even expected.” _

_ Jeremy, newly thirteen, stands at his bus stop, holding the straps of his backpack in tight fists and glaring at the ground. It’s his first day of his eighth grade year, and any other year, there would be somebody waiting for him- two somebodies, in fact. It was one of the few traditions his family has. Had, now, he supposes. _

_ But now his mother’s gone, and his father… isn’t taking it too well. That’s putting it lightly- the guy hardly showers anymore, and Jeremy knows that he’ll still be wearing yesterday’s clothes when he arrives home- including the lack of pants. Despite the knowledge that having his parents wait for him at his bus stop is social suicide, maybe he would feel a modicum of un-loneliness if they had actually been there. It showed that they actually cared about him, but who cares about him now? _

_ Slouching, Jeremy begins the long trek from the bus stop to his house at the end of the street. His phone buzzes a couple times in his pocket- probably just Michael asking if he got home alright. Jeremy must’ve lingered a little longer at the bus stop than he thought. He doesn’t take his phone out of his pocket.  _ No thanks, Michael,  _ he thinks,  _ but not right now.  _ He needs to be alone… or, rather, he needs the company of one specific person, and for once, it’s not Michael.  _

_ Jeremy needs his father, just this one time. Today sucked, and it would be kinda nice if he could at least have the simple gesture of being waited for, but no, that was too much to ask for. His father probably hadn’t even showered yet, sitting at home. Great. _

_ Jeremy stews for the rest of the walk home, arriving at his house in a few minutes and opening the front door with a dramatic creak. His father is, of course, clad in only a robe and a t-shirt as he sits in the living room. “Heya, Jeremy,” he says. “How was your first day of school?” _

_ Jeremy just grunts in response, kicks off his shoes, and trudges down the stairs to his bedroom. Fuck that. It’s not like his father cares enough to get showered and walk down the street, so why should he tell him? Why should he tell him that his day sucked; that he messed up on a question his teacher asked him in class and stammered over the answer; that Chloe Valentine and some other popular girl were talking about him and his stupid mannerisms while they sat behind him in Algebra; that, when he was walking with Michael, he got called gay by some six-piece Chicken McNobody, some insecure teen who was trying to be cool? No, he’s not going to tell his father any of that. _

_ Jeremy reaches his bedroom, opens the door, and sighs. He sits down on his bed, and, after a second, flops over onto it and curls into a fetal position. He really,  _ really  _ hates crying, like any teenage boy would, but he’s about to anyway, because why not? He cries over everything already. Sure enough, a tear slips from the corner of one eye. One thing echoes through his mind as he begins to sob silently: why me? _

“You’re kidding me!”

Jeremy lies in bed, typing away restlessly at his phone, when he overhears his mother’s scandalized voice from downstairs. He chuckles and slides out from beneath the covers, careful not to wake Michael up, and treads out of the room and down the stairs. He greets his mother with a “Yo” and a small wave, grinning as he sees what’s on TV. “I had no idea you like  _ The Matrix.  _ It’s my favorite movie.”

Cheryl looks over from the TV screen and says, “This is your favorite movie? I thought that was  _ The Faculty.” _

“Well, it was, but  _ The Matrix _ has my main man Keanu,” Jeremy explains. He takes a seat in one of the big, well-padded chairs that face the TV, purposefully avoiding the couch where Cheryl sits. There’s silence, then, besides the sounds of gunshots of the movie; even though people aren’t supposed to talk during movies, Cheryl always does, so it’s strange to hear… or, rather, not hear. Jeremy could info-dump all about the movie to fill the quiet, like he does almost every time he gets high, but he doesn’t want to be annoying.

It’s when he begins to marvel at Keanu Reeves’ handsomeness that something comes to him. Michael came out yesterday and it went alright, so it should be safe for him to come out as bi, right? Even though his main source of emotional support is currently upstairs sleeping, Jeremy settles on risking it- he has to be independent sometime. He hates the feeling of needing someone, after all- it’s embarrassing, even shameful. So, he steels himself, clears his throat, and says, “You… know I’m bi, right?”

Without hesitation, Cheryl nods, taking the whole thing in stride. “I kinda figured that was the case.”

Jeremy chokes on his breath, a blush rising to his face. “What? How did you know!?” Shit, was he really that obvious?

“Well, you were perfectly comfortable sharing a bed with Michael,” Cheryl says, “and when you came up to the door, you were holding hands. Either you’re bi, or you’re  _ very  _ comfortable with yourself, and we all know that’s not the case.”

“Ha, ha,” Jeremy mutters, rolling his eyes. It’s no secret that he’s uncomfortable with nearly everything about himself, including (but not limited to) his physique, his neurodiversity, his sexuality, his interests… 

Before Jeremy can dig further into his hole of self-pity, Michael calls down the stairs, voice sing-song as he asks, “Where’s my boy?”

“Hewwo?” Jeremy calls back, much to his mother’s chagrin. “We’re over here.”

Michael reaches the landing and turns, grinning when he sees Jeremy. “There he is!” He walks over and takes a seat in the chair next to Jeremy’s- why does Cheryl have so many chairs, anyway? What company is she expecting?- and asks, “What were you two talking about?”

Jeremy’s not stupid- well, not  _ that  _ stupid, anyway. He knows the question is less out of curiosity and more to gauge his mental state. “Oh, um… I actually just came out to her,” he says, making sure to smile so that Michael knows he’s alright. 

Michael raises his eyebrows, giving Jeremy an impressed look, and smiles back. “Congrats, duder! I’m proud,” he says, and reaches out to pat him on the shoulder, nearly falling out of his chair in the process.

“Thanks, Michael. Hey, look what movie’s on,” Jeremy says, gesturing to the TV with his head. Michael nods in approval.

The three of them watch in moderate silence for a while, the only talk being occasional chatter about the movie, but during one of the (admittedly boring) fight scenes, Jeremy taps Michael on the shoulder. “I think I’m gonna talk to her about the real shit today,” he whispers. 

Michael nods, but the movement is tentative. “You sure about that?”

This time, it does annoy Jeremy a little that Michael is babying him. “I mean, I have to do it sometime. I’m not a kid anymore, Michael; I need to fight these battles.”

Michael’s nod is less hesitant now, more confident, though it’s probably only for Jeremy’s sake. “Hey, you got this,” he murmurs. “Just tell me if you need anything, though, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Jeremy says, looking back up at the TV for a moment before he notices Cheryl’s resentful gaze.  _ Jeez, can’t we talk to each other without you getting pissy?  _ he wonders bitterly.

The movie wraps up in about half an hour, and, as Jeremy asks Cheryl what she thought of it- she liked it well enough, which is a shock- Michael excuses himself to go make omelettes for them. He must’ve been dying to cook his own food; the guy’s a pretty good cook, and even Michael can only eat so much convenience store and fast food before he gets sick of it. Jeremy just hopes he’s as good as cooking omelettes as he says he is.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to hope. After a few minutes, Michael calls him and his mother into the kitchen with a, “Breakfast is ready!” As the two of them crowd around the table, Michael says, “Now, they kinda turned out like scrambled eggs, but I put peppers and stuff in them, at least, so I guess they’re  _ kinda  _ like omelettes.” He sets out plates for each of them and himself, and the three dig in.

“I’ll clean up the kitchen for you, Ms. Thatcher,” Michael says a couple minutes into the meal.

Cheryl shrugs. “It’s no big deal; I can do it myself. You’re guests, after all.”

Surprise, surprise. Jeremy’s mom can be kind sometimes after all. “Nah, I’ll help him,” Jeremy says. The last thing he wants to do is inconvenience his mother. He can recall many a fight about him or his father being too slow, taking up too much of her time… no, he’ll pass on that.

“Thanks, bro,” Michael says, giving Jeremy a lopsided smile. It’s the little things.

“Well, anyway,” Cheryl says, “do you two want to go out on the town today? We haven’t really been out. Actually, Michael, have you left the house at all?”

Michael squirms self-consciously in his chair. “Hey, don’t call me out like this,” he protests.

“I’d love to take a look around town,” Jeremy says, cutting in before Cheryl can say anything else to embarrass Michael. He loves going new places; nobody knows him there, so he doesn’t have to worry about what they think of him (although he still does, but it’s the principle of the thing). 

“Then it’s a plan,” Cheryl says.

As it turns out, Nacogdoches is… overwhelmingly boring. “No offense, Ms. Thatcher, but why are there, like… twenty tire shops here?” Michael asks, frowning as they pass yet another.

“Y’know, I’ve lived here for five years, and I’ve never quite figured it out,” Cheryl answers. “I’ve only needed to go to one a couple times. I guess I never asked.” She sighs, looking wearily at the stores that line the dusty street. “I really thought there would be more interesting shops. I guess I just don’t do much window shopping anymore; I never knew this area of town very well.” There’s a tone of apology in her voice, although she never outright says sorry.

Jeremy shrugs. “It’s no big deal. Look, there’s a little gift shop over there.” He points to the other side of the road and up a few stores.

Michael and Cheryl peer over at where he’s pointing, then nod in unison. “Finally,” Michael says. “We should go there, man.”

“It looks like something you would like, Mom,” Jeremy says. It’s true; she loves all that decorative stuff. Jeremy’s house used to be full of kitschy knick-knacks and signs about drinking wine, but when she left, his father packed away all the ones she didn’t bring with her. It’s understandable, Jeremy supposes; memories of her were ingrained in the wood for him, too.

The atmosphere of the store is a little off-putting to Jeremy, though. It brings a sense of nostalgia, but not in a good way; it reminds him of his childhood, of the bad years. Plus, it’s sorta overbearingly Christian. Cheryl might not mind, since she was brought up in an interfaith household, but it’s still a little odd for Jeremy to see this much Christian stuff outside of Christmastime.

“It’s a little… religious in here, isn’t it?” Michael asks once the two of them have split off from Cheryl, echoing Jeremy’s thoughts. Michael has never really cared for that stuff, either, from what he’s told Jeremy.

“Yeah, it is kinda weird,” Jeremy says. “But, I mean, there’s gotta be something cute here  _ some _ where, between all the… wine mom stuff and the Christianity.”

“Maybe a wooden cat or something,” Michael suggests, and Jeremy nods.

“Hey, it’d be our first pet together,” Jeremy says, which sounded more smooth- or at least funnier- in his head. “Like… y’know, when we’re living together in the dorms, um, they’re not pet-friendly, so… it would need to be… wooden. A wooden cat.” He shoots Michael with a nervous pair of finger guns.

“Two things,” Michael says, raising one eyebrow. “One, that was incredibly lame. Cute, but lame. Two, I think Florence counts as an emotional support animal, so we’d be able to bring her, I think.”

“...Uh-huh,” Jeremy says. “Well, cool.” There’s a blush rising on his face, which barely needs to be said at this point. It’s half out of nerves- he  _ is  _ lame- and half out of the rush of being called cute by the boy he likes.

Michael ruffles Jeremy’s hair. “Aw, you’re  _ cute  _ when you’re embarrassed,” he says, which only worsens the problem.

“Are you harassing my son?” says a voice from behind them, and Jeremy and Michael turn around to see Cheryl with a joking smirk on her face.

Jeremy jumps away from Michael, nearly knocking askew a table full of coasters and wine charms, while Michael scratches the back of his neck. “No! No,” he says. “Just teasing.”

“Right, well.” Cheryl holds up a sign she picked up from one of the tables, which reads ‘Trust me, you can dance- Beer’, and says, “I like the look of this, but I’m not planning on spending much money here, so…”

Jeremy takes that as a sign- no pun intended- to hurry up, but, when he looks to his left, Michael is gone. “Michael? Where’d you go?” he calls.

The store is fairly small, so Michael’s a third of the way across it from Jeremy already; he sticks his hand up in the air so he can find him. “I’m over here!”

Jeremy walks quickly to catch up and falls beside him in a few moments. “What’s the deal?” he asks. “You disappeared on us.”

Michael points wordlessly to something he’s spotted on the ornate dresser he’s standing in front of, which is also for sale. Sitting on it, as was prophesied, is a small, wooden cat.

$22 and half an hour later, Jeremy, his mother, and Michael are seated at a booth at a restaurant that Jeremy has already forgotten the name of. When one’s in Texas, they’ve gotta get some good Southern food, according to Michael, who has never been to Texas in his life. The food’s pretty good, though, so Jeremy isn’t complaining. He’s gotten himself a fish taco, which he never thought he would like, but it was time to expand his horizons.

There comes a lull in the conversation- naturally, since it was a pretty boring one about how dull Nacogdoches is- and, between bites of her salad, Cheryl asks, “So, are you two… dating?”

Michael, who has no sense of fear or self-preservation, says, “Well, not  _ officially.”  _

Jeremy elbows him, desperate to remain stealth. “Michael! Dude!”

“Sorry, man,” Michael says, and ruffles Jeremy’s hair. 

Jeremy smooths it back down with a pout.

“Well, either way, I support you,” Cheryl says. “I was just… wondering. You two seem a lot touchier than I remember.”

“Yeah, it was kinda rough in high school. Everyone thought we were, like… super gay.”

“We  _ are  _ super gay.”

“Keep your voice down!” Jeremy hisses, immediately feeling bad for snapping.

Michael looks truly apologetic when he says, “Sorry, sorry.”

Cheryl just laughs, clearly amused by Jeremy’s shame and distress.

“Oh, just- just finish your salad!” Jeremy bites back a frustrated groan; he doesn’t particularly want to cause a scene. “Gimme a break…”

Jeremy’s prepared himself. He’s given himself a pep talk, he’s gotten best wishes from Michael, he’s thought up a script of what he’s going to say. It’s time to talk to his mother about the real shit. He knocks on her slightly-ajar bedroom door, and it drifts open to reveal her sitting on her bed with her laptop.

“Hey, Jeremy,” she says, eyes already fixed on him as he opens the door.

“Hey,” Jeremy replies, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He doesn’t sit; he needs to have some sort of physical advantage, if only to soothe his nerves. “...I think it’s time to talk.”

Cheryl nods. “You’re right. We’ve been beating around the bush.” She takes a deep breath, then says, “I’m sorry for leaving you and your father, Jeremy.”

Jeremy doesn’t forgive or deny her. Instead, he just nods. “You really hurt me, Mom,” he says, voice subdued- for now. “You messed me up. The only childhood I knew was fighting and getting yelled at and… and having my father, who I love, get screamed at, and I don’t remember any good reason.”

Cheryl frowns, and it dawns on Jeremy that she had no idea why he was so upset. What was she even expecting? “I was hurting too,” she says, and the tone of her voice almost makes Jeremy pity her- the operative word being  _ almost.  _ “Those fights were hard on me. I cried, Jeremy. I have depression, if your father hasn’t already told you.”

That throws Jeremy for a loop. He doesn’t want her to get hurt, not really, except in the dark recesses of his mind. “...But you still hurt us,” he says finally. “Why did you have to take it out on us? Like, I’m depressed, too, but you don’t see me yelling at anyone.”

“I want to apologize. I’m sorry about all that,” Cheryl says, “but you don’t understand- I couldn’t help it.”

Jeremy shakes his head and sighs unsteadily. “It’s just… I need time, okay? I didn’t even realize how messed up I am or why until a couple years ago, and… it’s you. I’m sick, Mom.” He worries his lip, more a bundle of nerves than a boy, then turns his forearms over and reveals the raised white scars there. “See?”

Cheryl blanches, then looks away. “I- I told you, I’m sorry I left,” she stammers.

_ Why are you not getting this?  _ Jeremy yearns to scream. “It wasn’t leaving that hurt me! Hell, when I was younger, I  _ wanted  _ you two to get a divorce. I’m just angry you didn’t leave earlier!” Cheryl’s frown intensifies, turning from sad to morose, but Jeremy refuses to feel empathy for her- he’s taking a stand after almost eighteen years; he won’t back down now. 

“I wanted you to come so I could ask for forgiveness,” Cheryl says. “I’ve been civil. Why are you yelling at me?”

“I’m not yelling!” Jeremy says. Okay, maybe he’s yelling a little, but how else is he going to get his feelings through to her? “I just… wanted you to know how much you messed me up.”

The sensitive frown on Cheryl’s face skews into a sour glare. “You can’t keep pretending you were a flawless child,” she says. “You deserved plenty of the times I yelled at you.”

“I was a  _ kid!”  _ Jeremy’s body tenses as his frustration turns to outright fury. “I deserved better! And Dad did, too!”

Cheryl flat-out sneers now. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be the perfect mother that you so clearly deserved.”

Jeremy’s eyes begin to brim with angry tears, and he blinks them away- he can’t show weakness now. “God, you are so immature! I wish I’d never come,” he chokes out. After a pause, he adds, “You bitch.” He turns and heads for the door again, but there’s a thump and footsteps behind him, and, as he secures his fingers on the doorknob, a surprisingly strong hand grips his scarred forearm.

“No, you get back here, you little shit,” Cheryl hisses, and wrenches him back. Jeremy cries out in shock and fright, but, since he’s marginally stronger than her, he manages to pull away from her and fling the door open, running out into the hall.

Michael runs out of his room, too, and catches Jeremy in his arms, holding him to his chest. “What did she do to you?” he demands. “Did she hurt you?”

Jeremy doesn’t answer. Instead, he asks, “Is she coming?” The tears, now frightened along with outraged, finally spill over, sliding down his face in burning rivulets. He’s answered by a slamming door; she hasn’t chased him out, but she’ll definitely be pissed at him for the next week. He lets himself relax the slightest bit as Michael strokes his hair, and finally, he answers, “She didn’t really. She just grabbed me.”

Michael lets go of Jeremy, and Jeremy wipes his tears away with one arm, pissed at himself for showing that damn weakness again. “Are you alright?” Michael asks, which is sort of a stupid question, but Jeremy forgives him for it.

He sighs out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know. I don’t get it- why is she  _ like  _ this? She goes on about being depressed, but most depressed people don’t yell at everyone all the time.” Jeremy’s voice is low, almost inaudible; he can barely hear himself, but he doesn’t want his mother to hear him, either. “It’s okay. I’ve gotten in fights with her before. I’ll be alright.” But deep down, he knows this one is different. He came in there so confident- or at least pretending to be confident- and now he’s just crying like a pussy. Fights with her had never damaged his self-esteem before.

Michael sighs as well, a long, sorrowful exhalation. “Yeah, I guess, but- has she ever put her hands on you before?”

Jeremy shrugs. “I dunno. If she’s done anything, it hasn’t been hard. Still…” Michael hugs him again, a little tighter this time, but eventually, Jeremy gets restless and breaks free. “I just- I don’t know why I got my hopes up and thought that maybe, for once in her life, she wouldn’t be such a tyrant.” He breathes in and out, in and out, breaths ragged, and then, with a grunt, punches the dingy yellow wall, knuckles scraping against it.

Michael jumps. “Jesus!” he huffs in surprise. “Wait, Jeremy, don’t hurt yourself.” His expression is a mix of concerned and afraid, as if a twig like Jeremy could actually hurt him. He would never, he would never hurt Michael  _ ever,  _ but there’s so much anger and bitterness in him that he doesn’t know what else to do but punch the wall and cry. So he does, hard at first, but eventually softening into defeated taps. 

“I can’t believe I expected her to change,” he says finally, voice choked with tears. “Why did I expect her to change?”

Michael hugs him from behind, and Jeremy allows himself to go weak again, anger seeping away and turning into disappointment and sadness. “Shh, it’s okay,” Michael murmurs. “Don’t blame yourself. There’s no reason to beat yourself up for being optimistic.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jeremy says after a pause. “I just- I wanna go to bed, Michael, I wanna go to bed, and I wanna leave tomorrow; it’s not good to be here anymore, I’m not safe, and I want to  _ leave,  _ Michael…”

“It’s okay,” Michael says again, and his voice vibrates through Jeremy’s rib cage and his heart, coming close to calming him down. His body is weak, and he’s exhausted, so exhausted; he just wants to curl up and go to sleep and never have to deal with the mess he’s made.

“I wanna go to sleep,” he says. “Can we go to sleep?”

Michael nods. “Yeah, bud, let’s go to sleep,” he says, and lets go of Jeremy; Jeremy’s reluctant to see him go, but at least he’s right there beside him. He reprimands himself for being so weak and needy, but he can’t help it.

While Michael changes into pajamas, Jeremy sits numbly down on the bed, not bothering to take his shirt and jeans off. His breathing has steadied, and his tears have dried; his heart is still racing a bit, though, and his skin is blushed and warm. He’s dead-tired, but wired at the same time, on-edge and on the brink of sleep. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, but every waking moment is a new burst of anxiety. Not even Michael’s arms around him can help him this time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway jeremy has emergent bpd and that's the hill i'll die on! am i projecting too hard? possibly. are you all already too invested in this to give up even if you don't agree with my headcanons? hopefully.  
also: tw for self-harm and suicide after "hell, everything is unstable" and uhhhh just general tw for Emotional Manipulation....... but after this chapter we don't have to deal with jeremy's mom anymore And Thank God For That

_ “Jeremy, you, uh… you have a letter.” _

_ It’s been five years since Jeremy’s mother last contacted him. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, munching on a bite of cereal, when his father brings in the mail. “That’s a surprise. I never get mail,” he remarks through a mouthful of Rice Chex.  _

_ His father’s movements are tentative, rattled, as he sets the letter next to Jeremy on the table. Jeremy frowns. What’s up with him? He understands the shock, though, when he picks up the letter. There, written in black ink, is one simple name that shakes him to the core: Cheryl Thatcher. “What the hell is this?” he asks. _

_ Jeremy’s father shakes his head. “I don’t know. I really… don’t know.” _

_ Abandoning his cereal- he really doesn’t think he’ll have an appetite after whatever this is- Jeremy feverishly opens the letter. Inside is a plain white piece of paper, which he unfolds and stares at intently. _

Dear Jeremy,

Please don’t throw this letter out right away. I’m sure you’ll want to, because of the way I abandoned you and your father, but please, hear me out.

I want to see you again. You’re my son, the only person that I really love, and I want to apologize for all these years of silence. I just needed some time away from you and your father, and from my job, and from New Jersey. But it’s been too long. I miss you. I don’t regret leaving your father, but it’s been hard living without you. I want you back in my life again.

If you would come visit me in Nacogdoches, it would mean the world to me. I understand if you don’t want to, but please think of me and how I feel. Either way, know that I love you, Jeremy.

Love,

Mom.

_ Jeremy exhales sharply. “Dad, look at this. What is this shit?” He curls his hand into a fist, and crumpled lines radiate out of it in the paper. _

_ Jeremy’s father takes the letter from Jeremy and reads it, eyes narrowing as he squints to see better. After a minute, he sighs out, closing his eyes tight. “I don’t know what it is, Jeremy,” he says grimly. _

_ Jeremy worries his lip, tapping at the shiny surface of the table. “She’s gotta be kidding, right? Why would I go see her?” _

_ “I don’t know. To make amends, maybe,” Jeremy’s father answers. “It might be good for you to make up with her.” _

_ Jeremy shakes his head resolutely. “She was a huge jerk to both of us. Don’t you remember how she used to get in screaming matches with you?” _

_ With his free hand, Jeremy’s father pats him on the back. “Well, that was in the past. Maybe she’s changed. She says she just wanted to take a break.” _

_ “Yeah? So what?” Jeremy says, not angry at his father but at the situation. “What’s the point? She’s probably just gonna yell at me again.” He sighs. “...You really miss her, don’t you?” _

_ Jeremy’s father takes a seat in the chair next to him. “Well, not as much as I used to. You’ve gotta admit, I’ve gotten better.”  _

_ Jeremy nods, noting the lack of wafting body odor and the presence of pants.  _

_ “But I still do miss her,” his father continues. “Anyone would.” _

_ “Yeah, I guess.” Jeremy crosses his arms on the table and rests his head on top of them, closing his eyes. “You really think I should go?” _

_ “Yeah, kiddo, I really do.” There’s sympathy in his father’s voice, but that’s not what Jeremy wants right now. What he wants is for someone to be pissed on his behalf. _

_ Jeremy groans as he mulls it over in his head. On the one hand, this is all so sudden- who  _ does  _ that, just contacts their son out of the blue after so long with such a pithy little letter? On the other, though, it might finally bring some closure. His father needs it more than he does, but it’s not like he’d say no to an opportunity to tell his mother how he really feels. “...Would you come with?” he asks after a long period of silence. _

_ Jeremy’s father shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m invited, Jeremy,” he says. “I wish I could, but I don’t think it would end well.” _

_ Jeremy sighs deeply, turning his gaze away again. “I can’t just go alone,” he protests. “I need moral support. And I don’t like airplanes, you know that, but I don’t have a license, so I can’t drive.” _

_ “You could go with one of your friends,” his father says. “Michael drives over here almost every day. You could ask him.” _

_ The prospect makes the whole ordeal sound almost livable. Jeremy’s always wanted to go on a road trip with Michael… though he never thought it’d be under these circumstances. Still… “I’ll think about it,” he says. He can do this. He might be able to do this. _

“Are… you doing alright, man?”

Jeremy is seventeen years old, almost eighteen, but he feels like a little kid again, a helpless child living in fear, and he hates it. He lies in a fetal position, staring blankly ahead; he doesn’t move a muscle, hardly even to breathe. Every inch of him aches. He doesn’t answer.

Michael sits down next to him and repeats, “Jeremy? Are you alright?”

Jeremy relaxes the smallest bit as Michael begins to rub his back with one gentle hand. He remains vigilant, though, tense to the point of pain. “...I don’t know,” he says, with no emotion in his voice.

Michael hums in acknowledgement and continues to rub Jeremy’s back for a few moments longer before saying, “Your mom made breakfast.”

Jeremy starts. “I don’t wanna go down there,” he says, voice frantic, hurried, as if even the thought is putting him in danger.

“Yeah, I know, neither do I,” Michael admits, “but she’s gonna be pissed if she wasted her time making us food we won’t eat.”

“We’d better hope she didn’t poison it,” Jeremy says, voice lost in the pillow that obscures part of his face. He’s half joking, of course, but he’s not sure if the part he’s joking about is it being a possibility or if it’s not wanting to die. He still feels like his limbs are coated with lead, but he sits up anyway, frail and fragile like a porcelain doll. What would he give to not feel this way? To feel  _ normal? _ Almost anything, he supposes. 

After standing up, Michael takes Jeremy’s hand and pulls him up as well, standing there for a brief moment before letting their hands fall to their sides. Jeremy reaches back out and takes Michael’s again. “Stay for a second.”

“You don’t have to be scared,” Michael says, squeezing Jeremy’s hand. “If things get bad, we’ll pack our stuff and go. We weren’t planning on staying for more than five days anyway, right?”

That’s true- they’d originally accounted for eleven days, Michael having postponed a couple job interviews. If worse came to worst and they had to give up their reservations, they could always sleep in Michael’s car; hell, they’d done it before.

Jeremy nods. “Right. Sorry, I just needed a sec.” He lets go of Michael’s hand and heads for the door, adding, “C’mon. It’s now or never.”

The air is electric with tension when Jeremy walks into the kitchen. Cheryl doesn’t say anything aggressive, but the space between her and Jeremy is silent, stifling; it makes Jeremy’s tight chest with a kind of anxiety that he hadn’t felt in years. She could lash out at any second, but if he stayed nice and polite, maybe things would be okay. No words. Stay out of her way.

Jeremy doesn’t have much of an appetite, despite the fact that the meal she’s made looks pretty good, though simple: just eggs and hamburger patties on bagels, a meal he’s had countless times before. His stomach churns, and he finds that he doesn’t have the energy to eat much. He slides his plate over to Michael after a few bites. “Here,” he mumbles. “I’m not that hungry.”

Not about to make a scene, Michael accepts the bagel graciously, putting it on his plate before continuing to munch on his own. 

“...Thanks for breakfast, Mom,” Jeremy says eventually. Speaking is like pulling teeth, but he knows better than to make her feel underappreciated. Even minor infractions on that front had gotten him and his father snapped at more than a few times.

Cheryl nods curtly. “You’re welcome,” she says, voice cool and sharp. “I would’ve liked a ‘thank you’ for raising you for twelve and a half years, but you can’t always get what you want.”

Ah, there it is. Weakly, Jeremy looks down at his plate. The numbness creeps back into him, shielding him from the angry, scared tears that would otherwise prick at his eyes and make him look like a huge baby. Michael stops eating as well, watching nervously as Cheryl fixes Jeremy with a standoffish glare.

“I just want things to be quiet, okay?” Jeremy feels infinitesimal, small and so alone in the universe, as he breathes the words. “That’s all I want. I just want a functional family.” Cheryl looks like she’s about to say something, but, despite his fear, the words won’t stop tumbling out of Jeremy’s mouth. “I don’t need an apology for everything you’ve done. I want one, but… I don’t know if it would make anything better. You can’t change the past.”

“I did my best to be a good mother to you,” Cheryl says, but it doesn’t show in her voice.

Jeremy takes a deep breath- in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Fueled by the oxygen, he feels a little bigger, a little stronger, a little less submissive. He already knows he’s going to leave, be it of his own volition or because of Cheryl kicking him out. He just needs this one last push, this one last moment of bravery. “You need to own up to what you did,” he tells her. “It messed up my life.  _ You  _ messed up my life. My therapist told me I’m developing borderline personality disorder- do you know what that means?” Jeremy doesn’t give his mother a chance to respond. “It means I have bad mood swings. It means I don’t like myself. It means my relationships are unstable- hell, everything is unstable. It means I cut myself and it means I almost killed myself when I was a sophomore and it means I suffer every day.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Cheryl says, “but I was a different person back then, and-”

“First of all, no you weren’t, because you’re the same damn person now,” Jeremy interrupts. “Secondly, do you think my brain cares if you’re a better person? No! It doesn’t! But you get to live your nice little secluded life here away from everyone but your cat that you used to replace your son, with nobody to bother you like your husband and  _ real  _ son clearly did. But me? I get to live in emotional hell! I get to be the guy with mommy issues, the guy who goes to therapy, the guy with the father who was barely there for him for two years of his life and a mother who never really was.” He’s breathing heavily now, and shaking a little. “You get to have a good life,” he says, “and I get to have a- a  _ disease.” _

Cheryl swallows sharply, and her expression is a barely-readable mix of anger, concern, and sadness. “You can’t blame all of this on me,” she says eventually, like she always does- avoiding the blame, never acknowledging the consequences of her actions. “You and your father weren’t perfect, flawless angels.”

“Yeah? Well, at least Dad and I didn’t walk out on you,” Jeremy spits. “You don’t even deserve to be called my mother.”

That knocks the breath out of Cheryl; she exhales a shocked sigh, then says, voice quivering with anger, “You can’t disown me! I’m your own flesh and blood!”

“I can do whatever I want,” Jeremy says, standing up from the table; he towers over her like this, and it makes his heart race with adrenaline. “I’m in charge of my own life now. I’m not some crying little kid anymore. I’ve got Dad, and I’ve got Michael, and I’ve got Florence, and that’s all I need- I don’t need a mother.”

“Fine. Then leave.” Cheryl glares up at Jeremy, face red with anger like he’s seen it so many times. “If I’m so terrible to you, if I’m so abhorrent that you would treat me like this, then get out of my house.”

“Oh, I was already planning on it,” Jeremy sneers. More roughly than he intended to, he grabs Michael- who was already a bit frazzled- by the arm, pulls him out out of his chair, and heads to the living room.

“What the hell?” is all Michael can ask.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Jeremy whispers back, then sighs. “There, you got a little taste of how it is.”

“Dude, it’s  _ scary.”  _ Michael scratches the back of his neck. “Are we safe here, Jeremy?”

It takes Jeremy a moment to reply. “She’s never hurt me physically before,” he says. “But... I’ve never told her off like that before. There’s a first time for everything.”

“We need to go, don’t we?” Michael asks, and Jeremy nods. “Did you get what you came here for?”

Jeremy worries his bottom lip, frowning as he contemplates the question. “I don’t know if I have closure,” he answers, “but now she won’t, either, and that’s enough for me.”

Michael blinks, taken aback. “That’s pretty savage, Jeremy.”

“Maybe I’m just not a nice person.” Jeremy looks toward the stairs, then back at Michael for a moment. Then, without a glance back at the kitchen, he climbs the stairs, just wanting to pack his bags and get out as soon as possible. Michael follows close behind him.

A floor away and behind a closed door, they can finally talk at a normal volume. “Can we get returns on the motel reservations?” Jeremy asks as he stuffs his clothes into his suitcase.

“I dunno, but I’d rather be missing money than stay here another day. You look like you’re stressed to death.”

“That’s because I am,” Jeremy says. He zips the long zipper on his suitcase after flipping it closed, then goes to pack up his backpack.

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Michael says. “Are you gonna be alright, duder? D’you wanna call your dad or something? I know he’s always been pretty good at calming you down.” 

Jeremy sighs, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t know. I guess I don’t really want to talk right now. I’m worn out, and my throat hurts.”

“Right, my bad. Just let me know when you’re all packed up.”

Jeremy nods, and in a few minutes, they’re both done packing; he slings his backpack over his shoulder and grabs the handle of his suitcase. “C’mon, let’s get outta here. I don’t wanna be here for one more second.” He pauses, though, as he steps into the living room again, heart pounding as he spots his mother still sitting at the kitchen table. Why couldn’t she have gone down to the basement or something, drown her anger in the fridge full of beer he’d seen? 

“What’s wrong?” Michael says, voice low enough that Jeremy can hear it but not his mother. “You anxious?”

“Of course I am,” Jeremy says. What a stupid question. “It’s silly, right? I dug this grave for myself.”

“You did a good job,” Michael assures him. “You stood up to her like your old man never could. And after this, you never have to talk to her again, okay? Not once.”

The idea both relaxes and invigorates Jeremy. He could go back to his quiet life, be a normal- if sick- kid. He nods. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

Again, there’s that jump in atmospheric pressure when they enter the kitchen, as if the animosity from his mother was a real, tangible thing and not just a feeling. It emanates from her, filling the room with ice. Still, Jeremy persists, stopping in front of the table to look back at her one last time. “Don’t contact me again,” he says coldly, and doesn’t wait for a response.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY so i wanted to finally thank you all for the nice comments! it really keeps me going bc tbh i dont like this fic barely at all. maybe i have low self-esteem... who's to say. and it means a lot that you guys are being so vulnerable and sort of sharing your experiences/saying that you can relate. i hope you're all doing well. this was a really emotional experience for me to write because like yeah, it's basically written all about the way my dad acted when i was a kid, i'm comfortable sharing that. so im glad there are other people who can relate to it too.  
anyway it's basically just fluffy boyfs from here on out lol so HOPEFULLY that will make up for the Angst......... rifp

_ “So? How do I look?” _

_ Jeremy, newly fifteen, is a week away from starting his sophomore year of high school. He stands near a dressing room at the mall, taking in his best friend, Michael-known-as-Michael, who no longer holds his secret to himself, as he steps out and poses with his hands on his hips. Michael is clad in a long-sleeved, black-and-red striped shirt with a short-sleeved black v-neck on top, along with black Kando pants. He looks stunning, but Jeremy doesn’t say that out loud. Instead, he says, “You look great! I really dig that outfit.” _

_ Michael smiles, and there’s a new confidence in his mannerisms and on his face and in his voice, and it’s… warm. It’s natural, like it was what he was supposed to be all along. “Thanks, man,” he says, and shoots Jeremy with a pair of finger guns. “I feel snazzy.” _

_ “You look it,” Jeremy says, and musses up Michael’s hair the same way he does to him about 20 times a day. (He doesn’t mind as much as he says he does.) “Real talk, dude, it looks great on you. You’re… handsome.” _

_ “Handsome?” Michael repeats, flustered, and tests it out again. “...Handsome. Thanks, Jeremy, I really appreciate it.” He gestures toward the dressing room with one thumb. “Well, I got more stuff to try on, so… wait around a little longer?” _

_ “Crabsolutely.” Jeremy likes looking at good-looking people, even if good-looking people happen to be his best friend, who’s a dude. So maybe he’s not 100% straight, if he’s being real with himself. What can he say? Guys are handsome. Whatever, he’ll deal with it some other time. _

_ It’s a few minutes before Michael reemerges, this time wearing a heather-grey polo and black dress pants- pretty fancy. “Okay, how ‘bout this?” He poses again. _

_ Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Weirdo,” he says, and Michael echoes his laugh. “It’s a nice outfit, though. I like it.” _

_ “Thanks, duder,” Michael says. Then, quieter, he adds, “I really do appreciate the support. You know that, right? This is a big deal.” _

_ Jeremy snorts. “Why wouldn’t I be supportive? You’re my only… I mean, best friend. I’m happy for you.” _

_ Michael’s smile then is boundlessly fond, and he hugs Jeremy tight, pulling him into an enveloping warmth that leaves Jeremy thinking he could die right then and there. “Love ya, man,” Michael says softly.  _

_ “Love you, too,” Jeremy whispers back. If he were a more poetic person, he would describe the feeling in his chest as a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, the tightness blooming into a nervous fluttering of wings in his stomach. He isn’t, though, so he doesn’t; instead, he sums it up as this: _

Ah. I think I’m in love with you.

“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

Jeremy steps out the door of his (former) mother’s house, not acknowledging or even listening to her final words to him. The wheels of the suitcase roll smoothly along the paved driveway, drowning out Jeremy’s thoughts for the time being. Michael pops the trunk of the car, and Jeremy hefts his belongings into it, along with Michael’s a moment later, which are still as heavy as ever.

Every inch of his body is on fire, not in a painful way, but in a powerful one, pulsing through his being and driving him to run and run and run. All his individual parts are shouting, screaming loud enough that he can practically hear it. His skin is warm, and he thinks he might be blushing, heart pounding in his chest, and it comes to him that he’s hyperventilating, one hand bracing himself against the searing silver metal of Michael’s car, pressing his eyes shut and just trying to  _ breathe-  _

“Jeremy?” comes a concerned voice from above. “Jeremy, are you alright? What happened?”

Jeremy’s eyes snap open at the voice, gaze crazed for a second before it settles on Michael’s face and fixes on it. “I don’t know,” he says. “I felt good, but then I- I panicked again. It’s the adrenaline.” He glances toward the living room window, where his mother is nowhere to be seen.

“Yeah, I get it. Are you alright?” Michael repeats, placing a hand on Jeremy’s cheek and tilting his head up further.

Jeremy thinks for a moment, then nods. His heart is still racing, but the hyperventilating has helped him get some much-needed oxygen. He sighs out. “Yeah, I’m good. We should- we should go. Michael, I think we should go.”

Michael opens the passenger’s-side door, helping Jeremy in, which Jeremy is too tired to be embarrassed about. Jeremy takes his backpack off and stows it on the floor before he sits down and gets buckled in, looking up at the fuzzy grey ceiling.  _ Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.  _ As Michael gets in the car and starts it, Jeremy grabs his water bottle from his backpack and takes a swig, then another. It helps his nerves a bit, softening his heartbeat. “At least I didn’t cry,” he says, tone flat, after a minute of silence.

“Man, I almost did!” Michael says. “Especially after last night. That was awful.”

Jeremy flinches as he remembers his mother’s hand on his arm, grabbing him with a vice grip and those sharp fingernails, and being so frightened for half a second that he wouldn’t be able to get free.

“Oh, sorry,” Michael says, and looks it, too.

Jeremy shakes his head. “It’s no big deal. I just gotta… I just gotta chill.” He flaps his hands, taking more deep breaths; it’s becoming second nature. When he gets tired of that, he has an idea, and rifles around in his backpack for his gaming console. In the game he’s been slowly working on, it’s always nighttime, which is comforting, considering his love of space and stars. 

As he starts up the game and the soft instrumentals of the soundtrack grace his ears, a feeling of peace begins to settle over him. He doesn’t realize it at first, but soon he finds that he’s speaking aloud: “- because, like, I love space, you know that, and since it’s always night, it’s so pretty and, like, comfortable. The moon and stars are really prettily rendered and stuff, but it would’ve been cooler if they’d arranged them into actual constellations. I guess that’s a lot to ask for, though…”

“Yeah, duder, that’s probably not their highest priority. Maybe in the next game they’ll have that,” Michael says. “Hey, move to Japan and get a job at the company and maybe they’ll leave you in charge of it.”

“Uh-huh. I know I said I wanted to be a therapist, but my  _ real  _ dream job is telling video game developers which constellations are which.” Jeremy chuckles at the prospect. A moment later, he adds, “Y’know what constellation reminds me of you?”

“Uh… Pisces?” Michael guesses.

“Well, yeah, but one that isn’t your zodiac sign,” Jeremy says. “It’s Lynx, the zig-zaggy one. Well, I guess most constellations are zig-zaggy…”

“Why Lynx?” Michael asks, eyeing Jeremy. “‘Cuz I got big feet?”

“What? Why would I be thinking about your feet?” Jeremy laughs. “Nah, dude, it’s because, uh… the name comes from how stars are so faint that it would take the eyesight of a lynx to see them. And, like, nobody pays you much attention, y’know, we both know that, but you’re still brilliant and great and… really… awesome? And it takes someone willing to look past everyone else to see how awesome you are.”

“That’s, uh… that’s gay, dude.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

“It’s cute,” Michael says, a little quieter now. “Really, Jeremy, that’s… touching. Thank you.” His face cracks into a smile, and he looks at Jeremy in the mirror.

“Why, you’re welcome,” Jeremy says, a smile of his own appearing. “Can we, uh… okay, remember the night we had to sleep in the car?” Michael nods. “It was really fun sitting on the roof and looking at the stars, and stuff.” Yeah,  _ and stuff-  _ like kissing. Kissing sounds nice. But he genuinely does want to see the stars; he’s not just trying to be coy. “Can we do that again?”

“Yeah, absolutely. We can do whatever you want.”

“Really?” Jeremy asks, tilting his head to one side.

“Of course. Did you think I was gonna say no?” Michael laughs a little. “You’re too insecure. Seriously, I’m up for anything. There’s just one thing I wanna make sure we do.”

Jeremy straightens up in his seat, leaning towards Michael. “Yeah? What were you thinking?”

“It’s a surprise, doofus,” Michael says, and swats at Jeremy. “Scoot.”

Jeremy obeys, but still stares intently at Michael. “Yeah, but now you’ve got me all curious!” he protests.

“Sucks to suck,” Michael says, and sticks his tongue out, not taking his eyes from the road. 

Jeremy rests an elbow against the window and cups his chin with one hand. “Will you give me a hint?”

“Jeremy, I love you, but I also know that you know exactly zero tourist attractions.”

“I mean, yeah, but still.” Jeremy sighs. “Fine, I’ll stop prying.”

“Good. You’ll know when we get there.”

The conversation lulls then, and Jeremy eventually turns his gaming console off; he’s still exhausted, emotionally and physically, and a guy needs a nap sometimes. With a simple “‘Night” to Michael, he snuggles up to the door and soon falls into a light sleep.

Jeremy blinks awake after- he checks the clock on the dash- about forty-five minutes. Michael’s stopped for gas, and Jeremy watches idly as he taps the buttons and selects his type of gasoline. 

It hits him, then, how much he appreciates Michael. Jeremy practically owes him his life, or at least his livelihood. He’d figuratively- and sometimes literally- held his hand through the whole thing with his mom. Not to mention, he’d gotten Jeremy out of his shell a lot, pushing him toward whatever school clubs he’s been too scared to join or girls he’s too awkward to talk to (although, that last one isn’t a problem anymore).

He wants to give back. He’s not sure how, but Jeremy wants to give back every inch of what Michael’s done for him. Maybe he will, in time, when all this is over with, when he’s home and he’s good and he’s safe and he’s recovered from the shock of this. Jeremy pledges to himself that he’ll be the best boyfriend Michael’s ever had; sure, he’s only ever had one other boyfriend, who wasn’t really his boyfriend and mostly his drug dealer, but still. Maybe he’ll buy him roses on the way home from work, or take him out for ice cream, but that’s not even that much- if something catastrophic happens, something big and bad and scary, Jeremy swears to God that he’ll be there for Michael the whole way.

Michael opens the door, shaking Jeremy from his thoughts. He smells slightly of gasoline. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he says, leaning over to ruffle Jeremy’s hair, although he ends up just running his hand through it. “Have a nice nap?”

Jeremy nods, covering his mouth as he yawns. “I feel all grody now, though. You know how you feel all gross after sleeping in your clothes?”

“You’re always gross,” Michael teases, and Jeremy swats him in the arm. Ignoring him, Michael puts the car in drive and starts to make his way out of the parking lot before asking, “Where d’you wanna go for lunch?”

“I dunno, it doesn’t really matter to me,” Jeremy answers. “Where do  _ you  _ wanna go?”

Michael hums as he mulls it over in his head. “Well, we’re just a few miles away from Shreveport. How ‘bout we eat at an actual restaurant instead of getting fast food for the trillionth time?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Jeremy says, smiling contentedly at the thought. “God, that shit’s gonna ruin me. My insides feel rotted.”

“Don’t ever stop being dramatic.” After Michael thinks for a second, he pulls back into a parking lot and takes out his phone. “Fancy… restaurants… in… Shreveport,” he mumbles as he types it into a search engine.

Jeremy peers over Michael’s shoulder, and, embarrassingly enough, his mouth nearly starts to water at pictures of juicy steaks and gourmet desserts. “These places are super expensive,” he says, though his temporarily food-driven heart leaps at the thought of going to a fancy steakhouse or whatever. “We’re spending way too much money on this hell trip.”

“Jeremy, I’m spoiled as hell and you know it,” Michael says. “My moms will probably pay me back. Plus, they know I like you, so they’ll be thrilled that I’m buying you a fancy romantic lunch.”

“You’re so  _ bougie,”  _ Jeremy says, and leans over to poke Michael’s cheek in jest.

“I know that, but you don’t have to  _ say  _ it.”

“C’mon, just take me to lunch. Did you pick a restaurant?” Jeremy asks, still staring at the screen.

“Yeah! Uh, there’s this steakhouse that looks pretty good.”

“Take me away.”

It’s only when they pull into a parking spot at the restaurant when Jeremy realizes his mistake. “Oh, shit, our outfits,” he says, tugging on Michael’s sleeve. Michael is clad in last night’s pajamas: a white t-shirt that, upon further inspection, is a bit dirty, as well as black shorts, and, of course, his marijuana leaf socks that Jeremy bought him for his sixteenth birthday. Jeremy himself is wearing a Legend of Zelda t-shirt, as if he could be any more of a nerd. It’s not exactly proper attire for this place, which was marked with four (four!) dollar signs online.

Michael shrugs it off. “Don’t worry about it, dude. We’re paying customers; it’s not like they’ll kick us out.”

“Yeah, but people will stare!” Jeremy says, both annoyed and anxious about Michael’s constant nonchalance. “C’mon, man, we look like a couple of… teenage boys!”

Michael puts a gentle but firm hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, Jeremy,” he says, “but we  _ are  _ a couple of teenage boys.”

Jeremy inhales and attempts to say something, but he finds that he doesn’t have anything to back himself up. “Okay, fine! I’ll go in, but I might die of embarrassment. You know that, right?” He wriggles in his seat a little, overcome with dread at the thought of going being seen by everyone with their nice dress shirts and dainty pleated skirts, but he manages to unbuckle his seat belt and open the door. The early afternoon sun is soothing, and it melts away some of his anxiety- he’s probably just overreacting. There’s probably been worse customers there. Hell, they could’ve been robbed at gunpoint! That’s  _ way  _ worse than two teens in shoddy clothes.

He was right, though; the woman who shows them to their table  _ looks  _ nice enough, but her smile is hollow, and her brows are slightly furrowed. Jeremy wilts under her gaze, but Michael stands there with his head held high, always the charmer, and thanks her graciously in his stupid weed socks. Well… Jeremy  _ does  _ love the weed socks, but they’re more than a little inappropriate here.

“Is this really that bad?” Michael asks when they sit down, a playful smirk on his face.

“She was hardcore judging us!” Jeremy says. “Didn’t you see her face?”

“She was smiling, Jeremy,” Michael says flatly. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, even if she  _ was  _ judging us, isn’t that fun?”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘fun’,” Jeremy grumbles. See, Michael is fully accepting of the fact that he’s weird by society’s standards; he’ll obsess over retro stuff, stand out, whatever. It tracks that he’d be chill sitting in this fancy restaurant in his grungy white t-shirt and those damn weed socks. Jeremy, on the other hand, burns beneath the sardonic glances from fellow diners.

Within a few minutes, water and bread have been brought to their table, and Jeremy busies himself munching on the soft baguette while Michael looks at the menu. It isn’t long until Michael speaks up again, though, as he always does. His voice is more hushed now, though, more controlled, as he leans in close. “So… are you, like… alright?” he asks.

Jeremy swallows the piece of bread he’s chewing and looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “Oh, like… with Mo- I mean, Cheryl?” Not fantastic timing, since they’re in public, but whatever. Nobody’s listening in… probably. “Well, I’m still a little messed up over it,” Jeremy continues, “but she can’t do anything to me anymore, so... I guess I’m a little more calm about it now.”

Michael smiles, relieved. “Well, good. If she  _ does  _ try to do something, I’ll serve her up a nice knuckle sandwich.”

That cheers Jeremy up a bit. Matching Michael’s smile, he says, “Yeah, right. I’ll get all big and tough and fight her on my own.” He flexes, showing off his all-but-absent biceps. 

Michael screws his face up. “I don’t mean to offend, Jeremy,” he says, “but the thought of you all… muscle-y and stuff is sorta terrifying. You’re a string bean.”

Jack scoffs, mock-offended. “Hey, now!”

“In a cute way! You’re a skinny bastard, but it’s charming.”

“I- I’ll eat protein powder!” Jeremy says, voice pitching up with defensiveness. “And work out every day. I’ll be buff.”

“Right, right,” Michael says, and grabs a piece of bread that Jeremy was reaching for. “I still want to be able to carry you, though. Being heavier than I can lift is institutional transphobia and I won’t stand for it.”

“Alright, buddy.” Jeremy rolls his eyes, but the prospect  _ is  _ kinda nice. He’ll allow it.

Nine hours later, the sun has set, and the grass is cool beneath Jeremy’s back as the two of them lie staring up at the sky. Michael’s arms are crossed behind his head, and Jeremy picks at the grass with one hand while he rests the other on his stomach. They’d pulled over next to a field of grass, picturesque in the moonlight, and, while they did have to hop a fence, it wasn’t a very tall one; they’d managed to get over it easily enough.

“So… why do you like the stars so much?” Michael asks, turning his head to look at Jeremy. “Like, they’re great and all, super pretty, but you’re… really attached.”

When Jeremy talks about the stars, he tries not to bring emotions into it, just the cold, hard facts. Geeking out over these things should be fun, but it just embarrasses him; sure, he can talk excitedly about retro stuff with Michael, but space is different- it’s not something that Michael is insanely into. Thinking back on it, Jeremy hasn’t even told Michael why he loves space so much. “Well… they’re always there,” he explains. “Nothing’s gonna make the stars go away, not even the end of the world. They’re always there, and the world would be so dark without them… we wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them.”

Michael nods, turning his gaze back to the night sky that blankets them. “Tell me about… the moment you fell in love.” Quickly, he adds, “With the stars, I mean.”

“What a poetic way of putting it.” Jeremy sweeps away the bits of grass he’s picked from the ground. “Um, it was a little after Cheryl left,” he begins. “We used to watch that one show all the time- Black Mirror? Do you remember that?”

“I do, in fact, remember it. You talked about it all the time.”

“Yeah, sorry about that; I was totally obsessed. Anyway, that’s what Cheryl and I bonded over, ‘cuz I really like sci-fi, y’know, and she does, too. It was kinda weird being alone in the room with her, but Dad was there on his laptop sometimes, so I guess it was okay. But, um, I digress.” Jeremy takes a deep breath. “Um, so, after she left, I started to really… okay, I still liked the show, but it hurt to think about. I mean, I guess I was sort of in denial, but her leaving kinda messed me up for a while.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, but he moves closer to Jeremy, pressing up against his side; Jeremy leans his head against his, but doesn’t take his eyes off the sky. 

“I needed something to think about that wasn’t that show,” Jeremy continues. “When I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I… um, so, this is really dramatic, but I snuck out of the house after dark and went to the forest, which was easy, ‘cuz Dad was in his not-so-fatherly phase.”

“I remember it well,” Michael says. “The, uh… the smell.”

Jeremy wrinkles his nose at the memory. “Yeah, well, imagine living with him.”

“Rather not. Anyway, continue.”

“So, I went to that forest near my house, y’know, the one we went to when we were kids to look for snakes? D’you remember that offshoot path that’s kinda overgrown, and there’s that huge rock there, and we saw all the fireflies that one time?”

Michael nods. “That was awesome, man. I wish I still had the pictures.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jeremy sighs. “So I went there, right? And I lied on that big rock, and I looked at the sky through the trees, and it was… beautiful. It took my breath away.” He cringes internally at that, but it’s true; it left him amazed in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “It really comforted me, y’know? It was just that and the cool air and the crickets and stuff. Oh, and I saw a frog, so that was nice.”

“What kinda frog?”

“You expect me to still remember?” Jeremy laughs at that. A moment later, he adds, “Uh, I think it was a Northern Gray.” Michael nods. “Anyway, on the way back, I looked up star facts and stuff on that old garbage phone of mine. Probably cost about eighty bucks.” Jeremy rolls his eyes as he remembers that disaster of a phone; thankfully, he got a smartphone for his fourteenth birthday. “Uh, then I started learning about planets, too, and all that stuff. Asteroids, space debris…” He sighs, mood lifted just thinking about it.

When he feels Michael move away, Jeremy looks down from the sky, regretfully tearing his eyes away from the infinite expanse of blackness interspersed with pinpricks of light. He looks over to see Michael looking at him with all the fondness in the world contained in those dark brown eyes, and he thinks maybe,  _ maybe  _ he’s found the place where he can be happy: right here, with his best friend, wind curling in his dark hair.

“I never knew it was so… profound,” Michael says. “It’s touching.”

A little embarrassed, Jeremy shrugs it off. “Not really, just some pre-teen angst B.S. It’s not that big of a deal.” He meets Michael’s eyes for a few more long seconds, then turns his eyes back to the sky. “It just feels peaceful, y’know? It’s hard to be anxious when you’re looking at the night sky. Oh, unless you’re afraid of black holes.”

Michael shudders at the thought. “Yeah, dude, I’d rather not think of spaghettification when I’m just trying to chill.” 

“Oh, yeah, I mean… I guess it’s scary.” Jeremy runs a hand through his hair before letting his arm flop to the ground. “The stars are good, anyway.”

“They are,” Michael agrees, and his voice is gentle and quiet in the chill of the night. “They’re beautiful.”

Something tells Jeremy that he’s not really talking about the stars. A blush creeps up his cheeks, and he turns away to hide it. “We should sleep out here. It might be fun.”

“You sure?” Michael asks. “I think we’re technically trespassing. I mean, there was a fence.”

“Yeah, I guess, but I’m too comfortable to move.” Jeremy stretches, the backs of his hands brushing pleasantly against the softness of the dewy grass. “We can’t get in too much trouble, can we?”

“I dunno, probably not?” Michael shrugs. “I don’t think they’ll throw us in prison, at the very least.”

“Thank God. I’m too cute for prison.” Jeremy gives a sly grin as if he believes a single word he’s saying. He’s okay-looking at best.

“You sure are, bud.”

There’s a few minutes of silence after that, but not the awkward, stifling kind. Just… silence. Michael calling him cute is enough to get Jeremy to zip his lips, forcing himself to not say anything stupid. It makes his heart do dumb, funny flips, and, even though the physical sensation is uncomfortable, he relishes the way it makes him feel.

“...Should we go to bed? Uh, to grass?” he asks after about five minutes, maybe making a fool of himself, but Michael still laughs, because that’s what people do when they’re in love.

“Yeah, man, why not? The ambiance is pretty good for sleeping. Feels like a cup of tea.”

“What does that… mean?” Jeremy asks, although he doesn’t expect an answer. He shakes his head. “Well, anyway- goodnight, Michael.” He waits for a moment, then closes the gap between himself and Michael as he scoots a few inches to the left.

“G’night, bud.”

Under the stars, warmed by Michael as the stars shine down on him, Jeremy sleeps better than he has in weeks.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bases a conversation in this fic off a conversation i had with my best friend* cool  
*has a friend breakup with said best friend* alright  
*has to edit the fic and slap it up here* ah shit

_ “Hey, Jeremy. Are you up yet?” _

_ It’s the morning of Jeremy’s fifteenth birthday, and he sits in bed, reading the excited birthday messages that Michael had sent him when the clock turned to twelve- fifteen of them, to be precise. It’s their little tradition for each other- one text for each year of the birthday boy’s life. _

_ Jeremy turns his attention to his bedroom door now, though, and is shocked to see his father through the crack that allows Florence to come and go as she pleases. “Uh, hi, Dad,” he says, scratching the back of his head. That’s weird- his father hasn’t woken him up since his mother left; he’d had to start setting an alarm. “‘Morning.” _

_ Jeremy’s father grins at that and gives a little wave. “Happy birthday!” he says, and opens the door wider, arms stretched out for a hug. _

_ Jeremy blinks. This is the happiest he’s seen his father in years; he’s actually wearing pants, and… is that deodorant? Truly incredible. “Thanks,” he says hesitantly, as if speaking will shatter the cheeriness like a pane of stained glass in the shape of a father figure. He does go in for the hug, and, judging by the way he smells- or doesn’t- his father actually showered today, too. _

_ Jeremy’s father wraps his arms tightly around his son, then pats his back a couple times before pulling away. “I made blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” he says. “Your favorite.” _

_ That brings a smile to Jeremy’s face. “Whoa, really? Thanks, Dad.” Now that he mentions it, he can smell the pancakes: a light, fruity scent that’s somehow made its way down to the basement. “Just let me get dressed and I’ll be right up.”  _

_ Jeremy’s distracted as he picks out a simple, grey-and-red striped t-shirt and black shorts, thinking about… well, the obvious. What’s up with his dad today? He hasn’t been this normal in years. Not that he’s complaining- it’s good to have his dad back again. He runs a hand through his hair as he stares at the wall for a moment, then leaves his room, heading upstairs to grab breakfast. _

_ His father had returned to the kitchen and is busying himself with setting out condiments when Jeremy walks in the room. “Lookin’ spiffy, Jeremy,” his father says, smiling as he catches sight of him.  _

_ Jeremy snorts. “Yeah, I’m the epitome of fashion.” Grabbing the blackberry syrup his father’s set out, he sits down at the table, then pours a gratuitous amount onto his Official Birthday Breakfast. As he evens it out diligently with a butter knife, he says, “You seem like you’re in a good mood.” _

_ Through a mouthful of fluffy pancake, Jeremy’s father says, “Well, it’s a special day.” _

_ “Yeah, but…” Jeremy trails off.  _ But you weren’t anything like this last year,  _ he wants to say, but holds his tongue. _

_ “But?” his father urges, leaning in a little. _

_ Jeremy squirms in his seat. “I mean… you weren’t like this last year, on my fourteenth.” _

_ Jeremy’s father nods, taking the criticism in stride. “I’ve been thinking… I need to turn my life around, and what better day to start?” _

_ Jeremy’s not naive; he knows this may not be permanent, that he might wake up the next day to a pantsless father eating soggy cereal while watching  _ Scrubs  _ for the fifth time. But it’s his birthday, and he’s trying to be fun and optimistic for once in his life. So he just nods and says, “Well, thanks for trying. And for the pancakes.” _

_ Jeremy’s father gives him a bright smile and leans across the table to pat him on the shoulder. “Anything for my favorite son.” _

_ Jeremy rolls his eyes at that, but he’s smiling, too. Yeah, this might be a pretty good birthday. _

“Who the hell are you, and why are you on my property?”

Jeremy wakes up sprawled out on the grass, back warm beneath the bright summer sun, and he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of a very,  _ very  _ indignant voice. He opens his eyes, rolls around to find the source of the voice, and over Michael’s shoulder- who he must have turned away from sometime during the night- he sees a tall, muscular girl with freckled skin and dirty blonde hair that’s tied up in a ponytail. From the twang in her voice, he half expected to see her in a cowboy hat with a piece of wheat in her mouth, but she’s dressed humbly in a baseball cap, a white t-shirt, and a pair of practical, mud-stained jeans. 

“Oh, crap,” Jeremy says. “I, uh…”

“‘Oh, crap’ is right,” the girl cuts in. “There’s no way you didn’t know this is private property. Hell, there’s a fence right there!” She gestures toward the whitewashed fence a couple hundred feet to her right, then shakes her head.

Michael stands up and brushes the grass off of his clothes, saying, “I’m sorry, I guess we weren’t thinking.”

“Oh, now, don’t tell me you were drunk,” the girl says, and sighs. “But you don’t seem hungover…”

“I dunno, maybe I’m still drunk-” Michael looks the farmhand right in the eyes and runs a hand through his hair- “‘cuz I can’t think straight when I’m around you, babe.”

Jeremy puts a hand to his mouth to keep from bursting out into laughter, and is already two seconds away from losing it when he sees the girl’s reaction.

Honest to God, she actually blushes. Her steely, stern demeanor is broken for just a second before she frowns again. “...You may be cute, but that’s not gonna make me forget that you two are trespassing,” she grumbles.

“Look, I’ll cut you a deal,” Michael says, putting on his brightest, most charming smile. He’s perfectly aware of how much of a menace he can be in that respect, and Jeremy knows that he knows, ‘cuz he’s used it on him. “You let me and my buddy here go without a fuss, and I’ll barbecue you some damn good ribs in a couple weeks on the Fourth. Now, I’m sure a girl like you has a lovely family to spend it with- they wouldn’t mind you taking home a boy, would they? It’d bring a little excitement.”

The girl goes redder and clears her throat, breaking eye contact. “I suppose they wouldn’t have much of a problem.” She pauses. “Are you a good, um… barbecuer?”

“Best around,” Michael fake-boasts. “Been learning cooking techniques from my dad since I was a kid- he owns a restaurant.” 

Jeremy, meanwhile, has resorted to biting down on his thumb to keep himself from having a fit.

“Well… I suppose we could do that,” the farmhand says. “Do you have, uh… y’know, a phone I could call, or...?”

Michael takes his phone from his pocket and wiggles it in one hand. “I sure do. You ready? Got a pen on you?”

The girl shakes her head, then taps her temple. “I’ve got the best memory in my family since my great-grandma passed away. I’ll remember it.”

“And she’s smart, too! Alright, you ready?” The girl nods. “My number is 732-600-5389.”

“Gotcha,” the girl says, and winks. “I’ll be sure to get a taste of that Mell goodness, yeah?”

“You sure will, babe.” Michael gives her his classic finger guns, then turns back to Jeremy, who’s still lying on the ground, desperately holding back laughter. “C’mon, Jeremy. We should get going.”

“Oh my entire God,” is the first thing that comes out of Jeremy’s mouth when they get in the car. “That was buck wild, dude.”

“Right? I felt my soul separate from my body.” Michael laughs. “Like, look, don’t get me wrong. Girls? They’re great.” He straps himself in, then turns the key and starts the car, glancing into his rear view mirror before merging back onto the road from where he’s parked. “I, however, am absolutely gay, and I honest to God don’t think I could survive flirting with a girl again.”

“If it’s any consolation, she was pretty cute, in my bisexual opinion.”

Michael shrugs. “It helps a little. Dude, what am I supposed to do if she calls me?”

“I dunno, say she got the wrong number?” Jeremy crosses one leg over the other, then switches back again. “You’re too good at flirting for your own good. You know we could’ve just run, right?”

“Are you kidding?” Michael snorts incredulously. “That girl could definitely outrun us, and you know it.”

“She  _ was  _ kinda built,” Jeremy admits. “I’m so glad I woke up for that. I wouldn’t want to miss a single second.”

“I… I feel like I’m flattered? I wonder if this makes me a stud.”

“Michael, if you leave me in loser-land, I’m gonna cry.” Jeremy puts on his best pout and puppy-dog eyes. “Don’t leave and get a hot boyfriend.” It’s all a charade, of course- Michael is in love with him… hopefully? It hasn’t even been a week since he tried to confess. Things can’t have changed that much. But what if he stopped liking him when Jeremy told him not to tell him? What if he’d lost interest?

“I would never leave you alone, dude,” Michael says, and the sound of his voice erases any doubt from Jeremy’s mind.

_ Club Bangers Vol. 1  _ blares from the speakers again as the Chrysler flies down the highway, humming beneath Jeremy’s back as he leans against the seat. This time, he sings without coercion; his voice still isn’t as good as it used to be, a gentle tenor, but that doesn’t matter when it’s just him and Michael and the open road.

The song that currently fills the car is about doing stupid things with the person you love- getting drunk, falling asleep on roofs, almost breaking collarbones; typical stuff. “This kinda reminds me of us,” Michael says during a break between verses. 

Jeremy thinks on it for a second. “When’s the last time we did anything dumber than smoke weed while your moms were still awake?” he asks with a laugh.

“This morning, when we almost got pitchforks shoved up our asses for trespassing on farmland,” Michael answers. “Did you forget already?”

“Hm. Good point.”

The song ends, and then another, and then another; finally, Michael turns the music off. “So, I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Hit me.” Jeremy turns his head to face Michael.

“So, you know how we, uh… o-on the roof of the car, y’know,” Michael stammers, and things click into place.

Here it is: the moment he’s been waiting for since sophomore year. Heart light with giddiness, Jeremy leans forward a little. “Uh-huh?”

“And you said we could talk about it when you were done with all the, uh…” Michael pauses, peers silently at the road ahead. “The business with your mom. All that stuff.” 

Jeremy nods, urging him to get on with it.

Tentatively, Michael asks, “Is, uh, is now the time? Is it over?”

Despite his eagerness, Jeremy has to think on that for a bit. He has to be smart about this, otherwise it’s going to bite him in the ass. Yeah, technically, it’s over, but it’s still fresh in his mind, and it freaks him out a little bit. The gap that his mother’s leaving in his life now is like a tooth that’s fallen out, and the only way to stop tonguing the bleeding hole is to welcome good things into his life. If Michael Mell isn’t a good thing, Jeremy doesn’t know what is. “I… I think it is,” he says, equally as hesitantly.

Michael nods, and doesn’t bother to hold back a smile when he says, “Cool.” He clears his throat, takes a deep breath. “Well, then. Jeremy, I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. I really like you, dude, as more than a friend.”

“I gathered that,” Jeremy says, grinning like an idiot. “I like you too, Michael. A lot.”

“Yeah, I gathered that, too.” Michael steals a glance toward Jeremy, then looks back to the road. “Okay, but, real talk, I’ve been sitting on that for, like, two years. Feels good to finally say it.”

“Holy sh- two years?” Jeremy’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Not that he can talk, since he’s been crushing on Michael since sophomore year, but he has the excuse of being more socially inept than him.

“I dunno. I guess I didn’t think you liked me back,” Michael answers, “at least not at first. I mean, you had a huge crush on that girl from your bio class in junior year, and I didn’t want to get my gay little heart broken,”

The prospect of breaking Michael’s heart makes Jeremy nauseous. If he hurts Michael, anyone who wants to is invited to take him out back and shoot him like a lame horse. “I liked both of you,” Jeremy says. “Plus, she started dating the most popular guy in school, so I gave up on that pretty quick.”

“Huh.” Michael is silent for a few moments before he asks, “So, how long has it been for you?”

“...Quite a while,” Jeremy admits. It would be too embarrassing to tell him now that he’s liked him for four years and didn’t say anything. Seriously, why’s he like this? “But really, two years? You’ve been pining over me for that long?  _ Me?” _

“Aw, don’t say it like that,” Michael says. “You’re a handsome guy, and our personalities fit really well together. Who else would I even think of?”

“I mean… everyone goes for the popular kids. Especially the gym rats.”

“Well, as you can tell, muscular guys just aren’t my type,” Michael teases. “I mean, I’m crushing on a string bean.”

Jeremy glances down at his laughably flat abdomen. “Hey, now! I’ll get muscular someday! I just grew up and not out.”

“And yet, I still managed to be taller than you.”

Faking grumpiness, Jeremy pouts and looks away. “Jerk.”

“Sorry, man,” Michael says, and he does sound a little apologetic, but… not much. Jeremy doesn’t mind. “Anyway, how did you not figure out earlier that I like you? I’ve always been pretty transparent about it.”

“I don’t know. Low self-esteem, I guess,” Jeremy says. “Can I say something kind of gay?”

“Jeremy, I literally just told you that I’m in love with you.”

“It’s still gay!”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s… kinda stupid that I didn’t realize I was in love with you for so long,” Jeremy says. Risking carsickness, he looks out the window; all of this is so embarrassing to admit. “I think it was around the time you started transitioning that I figured it all out, but I think I liked you for a lot longer.”

Michael gives a snort of laughter, but it sounds more like the air has been punched out of him. “Jeremy, that was sophomore year. Have you been crushing on me for three years? And you’re giving  _ me  _ grief about not saying anything.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” Jeremy says, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking into his seat. “I’m socially awkward! And anxious.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, but you can tell me anything. You know that, right?” Michael asks. “I’m your best friend, after all.”

“Yeah, I know, it was just… confusing and scary, because I had to admit to myself that I was bi and that I was in love with my best friend, which are two  _ really  _ big things,” Jeremy says. “So, I just hid it away until you started acting more… amorously with me.”

“‘Amorously’? You sound like an old man.” Michael takes one hand off the wheel momentarily to ruffle Jeremy’s hair. “I get it, though. It took a lot to work up the guts to tell you, especially since… like, it’s weird when you have a crush on your best friend, ‘cuz they’re gonna wanna know who it is, and you can’t just tell them that it’s them.”

“That’s the reason I didn’t tell you, either. I guess we’re too close sometimes.”

“No such thing as being too close with your bestest brofriend,” Michael says, and Jeremy rolls his eyes. There’s a brief minute of silence before Michael asks, “So… what now?”

“I didn’t really think that through,” Jeremy says. “That’s just what I meant- I didn’t have the emotional energy to think about you  _ and  _ Cheryl.”

“Yeah, I think I get it now,” Michael says with an understanding nod. “I’m surprised you didn’t have a script written months ago, though.”

“I tried to write letters a couple times,” Jeremy says, “but I threw ‘em out. I guess I just wasn’t ready to tell you.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us took the initiative. Could you imagine if we were just best friends ‘til we died? Like, being best friends is cool and all, but never telling each other how we felt?”

The concept makes Jeremy shudder. He would rather die than live like that. (Granted, he’d rather die than do a lot of things.) “No, don’t even say that! That’d be the worst!”

“Exactly!” Michael says. “I mean, you’re still gonna be my best friend, nothing is gonna change that, but it would really suck to not know something like that.”

“Sorry I’m such a useless bisexual,” Jeremy says. “I’ve talked about it with my shrink, if that helps.” It’s not a topic he stays on for very long with that man- it makes him too vulnerable around someone he doesn’t really like- but his self-confidence issues regarding Michael have been the subject of his sessions once or twice.

“Dude, you don’t have to apologize. For real, it’s out now, right?” Michael says, and pats Jeremy on the shoulder. “No pun intended.”

Jeremy snickers. “Yeah, it’s out now,” he agrees. The weight of the secret has been lifted off his chest, just like Michael said. He hadn’t realized how painful it was those three years, holding himself back and only telling a few people, but God, now that he’s said the words- even though it doesn’t hold a candle to how he really feels- the feeling in his chest is so much… lighter. It’s almost electric, in a way.

There’s a comfortable silence for the next long while, broken only when Michael turns the stereo on. The first song that plays is a love song.

“Damn, it’s kinda late,” Michael says, glancing at the clock, which reads 12:05 A.M. “I thought it was, like, eleven.”

Jeremy looks up as well and echoes, “Oh, damn, it  _ is  _ late.”

Michael hums, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel as he considers the situation. “Well… we  _ could  _ just keep going.”

“Wouldn’t you be sleep deprived? Like, more than usual?” Jeremy asks. “That doesn’t sound very safe.”

“Well, yeah, but keep in mind, I can stay up ‘til, like, five in the morning on a regular basis,” Michael says, and Jeremy nods. “Plus, we’d get home in less time.”

“Ooh, good point. I’ve been missing Dad and Florence… and that hot cashier at the 7-11. Ow, hey!” Jeremy snickers as Michael reaches over to flick him in the arm.

“So we’re in agreement?”

“Yeah, dude,” Jeremy says, “and don’t worry, I’ll stay up if you wanna talk.”

“I always wanna talk to you, Jeremy,” Michael says, and Jeremy sticks his tongue out at him; it’s hard to accept kindness, even from his best friend/whatever they are now. It’s an unfortunate match, really, because Michael loves to be kind to Jeremy, but it’s something they’ll just have to mutually get over.

Fast forward to about 3:00 A.M., and Jeremy’s about to lose his mind, to freak his bean, to go absolutely nuts. “Okay, okay. Say that again,” he says, staring at Michael through narrowed eyes. “I just don’t get it.”

Michael takes a deep breath in, and Jeremy knows this is going to turn into a rant if he doesn’t stop it. “Okay, so, the moon’s not real.”

“No way, dude.” This is  _ not  _ something Jeremy’s going to believe. In fact, he’s perfectly willing to die on the hill of ‘the moon is real, you dumb little man’. The moon can’t be fake! He would know! It’s one of his favorite heavenly bodies. Call it entry-level, but it’s so  _ pretty.  _

“Jeremy, I swear on my life, there’s tons of evidence for it,” Michael says. “Like, it glitches. I’ve seen videos of it; they’re right there on YouTube. There are, like, radio waves that appear on it, dude.”

“The moon doesn’t glitch!” Jeremy protests. “It’s a rock! A rock can’t glitch!”

“Au contraire, mon chouchou. It’s a hologram.”

“How on Earth could it possibly be a hologram? It’s twice as big as Russia! There’s no way we have access to technology like that,” Jeremy says. “Besides, where would we keep the… hologram projector thingy?”

“First of all, Jeremy, my bruhddy, my heterosexual life partner… why do you trust the government so much?” Michael asks, raising his eyebrows.

Jeremy blinks, lips slightly parted. “I- I don’t trust the government! You know that!”

“Exactly. So why do you trust what they tell you about the moon, hmm?” Michael grins. “Hmmmm?”

“Okay! Okay, so maybe I’m gullible, but like… the moon exists! I mean, there’s a moon goddess in almost every pagan religion,” Jeremy points out. “And I know for a fact that holograms didn’t exist back when, like, Greek mythology was being made up.”

“Well, yeah, the moon existed back then, but not anymore.”

Jeremy pinches the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe I’m having this discussion. How did I go thirteen years without knowing you think the moon is fake?”

“Well, I only found out about it in sophomore year,” Michael says, “so more like three.”

“Alright, then, three years. Look, I don’t know how to break it to you, but the moon isn’t… it’s not fake, Michael. It’s not.”

“It is!” Michael insists. “Look, I get it. It’s a tough pill to swallow. But most people who’ve done their research really believe it.”

Jeremy flops back against his seat and groans. “Oh, my God. This is the dumbest conversation I’ve ever had. I’m going to sleep.”

“You can’t run from the truth forever, Heere!” Michael says, tone eerily reminiscent of a teacher reprimanding a chronic homework skipper.

“By-eee!” Jeremy says, flashing Michael a peace sign before closing his eyes and promptly passing out from sleep deprivation.

That night, he dreams of a flickering moon.


	11. Chapter 11

_ “Jeez, Jeremy. How did I go so long without hearing this?” _

_ Jeremy’s had this stupid crush for a whole damn year now. He sits at the kitchen table with his dad, eating peanut butter ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup and talking nervously about his crush on his best friend, and, consequently, his bisexuality. He’s just lucky his father’s back to his usual self after the divorce; Jeremy wouldn’t know what to do if he’d just brushed him off. _

_ “Well, I dunno. Because I only figured it out myself last year, and I was too nervous to tell anyone.” Jeremy squirms a little. “And it’s especially weird ‘cuz you  _ know  _ the person who I’m… I mean, the person who helped me realize…” He trails off. Saying it again feels like a death sentence- getting the words out once is enough. _

_ “That makes it even better!” his father says, a wide, excited smile on his face. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but… Michael’s a good kid. If he makes you happy, then I say you should go for it.” _

_ “Wait, wait, wait… go for it?” Jeremy hadn’t even thought of actually doing something about his feelings. He’d entertained the thought of them being together, but he didn’t ever consider confessing to the guy. _

_ Jeremy’s father nods. “Why not? Isn’t he gay?” The question is blunt, but not mean. _

_ “Yeah, he is, but that doesn’t mean he likes me back.” _

_ “Aw, don’t say that!” Jeremy’s father leans over to ruffle his hair, which Jeremy smooths down with an annoyed grunt. “You’re a great guy, Jeremy. Who knows? Maybe he’s already madly in love with you.” _

_ Jeremy goes red at the thought. “No! No. Ugh, no.” Why is he even telling him about this? He didn’t have to tell him about his crush! He could’ve just said “Hey, Dad, I’m bi,” and been over with it! But nooo, he had to go on and say “And I’m in love with Michael,” because he’s an idiot. _

_ “What’s wrong, Jeremy?” his father asks. “You want him to like you back, don’t you? Or is crushing different from when I was a kid…?” _

_ “Well, yeah, of course I do, because he’s handsome and great and my best friend,” Jeremy answers, “but you’re embarrassing me! Just… don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” He sighs and stabs his spoon into the unmelted part of his ice cream. _

_ Jeremy’s father chuckles. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.” _

_ Relieved, Jeremy sighs out a long breath and allows his taut muscles to relax. “Thanks. ...He’s  _ really  _ cute, Dad.” _

_ “That’s the spirit!” his father says, a grin lighting up his bearded face. “Now, tell me everything.” _

“Ugh. What time is it, Jeremy?”

Jeremy, three years post-crush-commencement, is scrolling through the official NASA Instagram account, looking at pictures of various heavenly bodies, when he hears Michael’s groggy voice and turns around. “Uh, ‘s about noon. You sure slept well.”

Michael hums and scratches his stomach through the white fabric of his t-shirt. “Yeah, I went to sleep around… four-ish?”

“Wow, you lasted a whole forty minutes without my wonderful self to keep you company?” Jeremy teases. “You’re a brave man.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I think you’re projecting.”

“No way! I never get lonely!” Michael’s got a point, though. He can be a sad kid sometimes, alright? But that’s irrelevant. “Anyway, we should probably get going sometime soon. It’s getting late.”

Michael’s eyes widen as he perks up at the thought. “Oh, yeah, you’re right! Just, uh, gimme a little to wake up.” He hums as he stretches his arms, grin mellowing out into a warm, fuzzy smile.

Jeremy smiles to match Michael’s, insides going a little soft at the sight. “What’s the deal?” he asks. “You seem hyped.”

“You’ll see,” is Michael’s frustratingly vague answer, and Jeremy sticks his tongue out at him.

“Why are you always like this?”

“A, because I can be, and B, because I know you love me too much to friend-dump me because I don’t give straight answers,” Michael answers. “Actually, I don’t give straight anything. Y’know, on account of how gay I am.”

“Ha ha,” Jeremy says flatly, rolling his eyes. He can’t keep a smile off his face, though. “Well, I trust you, for better or for worse.”

Michael doesn’t keep the secret for long, though. “Okay, okay. So, you know that one thing I was talking about? The one thing I wanted to do on this road trip?” he asks after about ten minutes on the road. Without waiting for Jeremy to respond, he continues, “You like national parks, right?”

“I… mean, I guess?” Jeremy shrugs. “They’re pretty, and I like going on walks, especially after being in a car 24/7 these past few days.”

Michael nods. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Anyway, Smoky Mountains is only, like, forty minutes from here, so I thought it might be nice to have a picnic and walk around and stuff.”

“Aw, cute!” It sounds… romantic. Is it romantic? It seems sorta romantic. Well, technically if it’s him and the guy who likes him back, it’s kinda inherently romantic? He’s not actually sure. They’re blurring the lines between best friend and boyfriend- would they need to go on dates first, or could they just jump in? God, this dating stuff is confusing.

Jeremy’s excitement- or anxiety, he can’t really tell; they feel the same anyway- builds over the forty minute ride. The lush, green mountains tower over them, glimmering in the sun; it’s breathtaking. There’s little chatter, just silent awe and comfortable quiet, and Jeremy snaps (admittedly subpar) photos with his phone to show Michael later, since he can’t look out the side windows. 

While Michael pulls into the parking lot nearest the picnic tables, Jeremy scopes out the area: it seems like a nice place- peaceful, with nice weather today; warm, but not too warm. Michael pokes him in the shoulder, and he looks away from the window and back to him. “Yeah?”

“You take the cooler, I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Michael says, and Jeremy grimaces.

“Ew, public bathrooms. Those things are grody as hell. Good luck.”

Michael slaps Jeremy’s arm- gently, so as not to hurt him. “Don’t be gross.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jeremy says, and hops out of the car. Michael’s popped the trunk for him, and from it, he takes the small cooler they’d invested in for the trip- nothing fancy, just a dinky one from Walmart- that holds their sandwiches and soda: a turkey club with Gatorade for himself and a chicken wrap with Pepsi for Michael. “Meet ya out there,” Jeremy says, and Michael nods, giving him the go-ahead.

The path to the picnic tables is neatly paved, running alongside a river lined with rocks and driftwood. Jeremy hums as he walks along, one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped loosely around the handle of the cooler, and marvels at the way the sun shines through the canopy of bright green leaves. The ground is dappled with spots of light that sway back and forth as the leaves shift and flutter in the light breeze.

Eventually, Jeremy makes it to a clearing with a few picnic tables and finds an unoccupied one at the far end, situated near a thin tree. Michael hasn’t caught up with him yet, so he shrugs and sits down, opening the cooler and grabbing both of their sandwiches from it. After he spreads out the paper napkin that came with the club, Jeremy picks the ham, bacon, and cheese from the sandwich and sets the slices down, making a mental note to give them to Michael later. It’s a little embarrassing to sit here and eat by himself when he’s clearly waiting for someone, but he does it anyway, absently hoping that Michael’s food poisoning didn’t somehow flare up again. He’s only a few bites into his sandwich, though, when he hears something from behind him: the strum of a hand against guitar strings.

_ “Every time I see your smile, it makes my heart beat fast,”  _ comes Michael’s voice, and Jeremy turns around to see him with his guitar slung around his neck. Jeremy hides his face in his hands as Michael props his leg up on the bench and continues,  _ “And though it’s too soon to tell-” _

“Michael!”

_ “-I’m hoping this will last.” _

“You!”

_ “Cuz I always wanna have you-” _

“You’re serenading me!”

_ “-right here by my side.” _

Jeremy looks up through a crack between his fingers and just about melts at the sight of him, hair and shoulders lit up by the bright midday sun, looking at him with those tender eyes, and- ugh. He closes his eyes again.

“Jeremy,” Michael says, pausing mid-song to nudge Jeremy with his foot, “you can’t just sit there with your face in your hands.”

Jeremy finally drops his hands from his face and lets Michael see his doofy smile and red cheeks. “But Michael, oh my whole God, you can’t just  _ do  _ this.”

“I can and I will,” Michael proclaims, grinning down at Jeremy as he sits down on the table, no longer putting all his weight on one leg. “Babe, just- just keep eating.”

“Is that- I don’t know the protocol in these situations,” Jeremy says. Not to mention, people are looking, and, like, they don’t seem to have a problem, but they’re looking all the same, and…

“No, really, just do it,” Michael says. “It’ll be like… like the mariachi band at that Mexican restaurant back home. I’ll sing to you while you eat.”

“Fiiine,” Jeremy says weakly, although eating is the last thing he wants to do. Right about now, he wants to be kissing this dumb, stupid boy with his tone deafness and his super good guitar skills and his handsome face. Reluctantly, though, he continues to munch away at his sandwich, which actually isn’t all that bad, although the turkey is a little dry. 

In a couple minutes, the song comes to a close, and Jeremy drops his sandwich to the table, clapping vigorously. “Michael, that was  _ amazing,”  _ he says, no longer able to restrain his giddiness. “I had no idea you were that good at playing the guitar. When did you get that good?”

“No, no, wait,” Michael says, and takes one of Jeremy’s hands in his own, holding it closer to his chest. “There’s more; I’ve got a whole set. Well, okay, I’ve got three more songs, which isn’t, like, a whole set, but y’know. It’s a whole something.”

“Oh, my God, you’re gonna kill me,” Jeremy breathes, straight from his mind and uncensored. “You’re actually going to kill me dead. You’re going to kill me.”

“Nah, I’m just a nerdy guy with a guitar. But, hey, at least I’m not playing Wonderwall at a house party,” Michael says, and laughs. “C’mon, hang in there. Don’t die on me just yet.”

Jeremy doesn’t end up buying the farm in the next ~13 minutes, but he does almost die in a sick-sweet mixture of embarrassment and love. When Michael finishes the final song, Jeremy isn’t the only one who’s clapping; another couple on a date, along with a family with three small children, are smiling and applauding loud enough for the two of them to hear. “Michael, that was  _ incredible,”  _ Jeremy says, smile wobbly with enamorment.

_ “You’re  _ incredible, Jeremy Heere,” Michael says, voice becoming serious, though it doesn’t lose its happiness. He picks idly at the strings of his guitar with his fingertips, letting small bits of the last song drift into the summer air again. “This… was actually going somewhere. This whole thing. Um…”

If Michael is going with this where he  _ thinks  _ he’s going with this, Jeremy might actually scream. Well, more likely, he’ll just flap his hands a lot and say yes a million times like he’s getting proposed to.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Michael asks, and takes a deep breath. “Okay, look, I know it’s going super fast, but I was thinking- we’re already best friends. We know each other better than anybody else; it’s not like a few dates will make us get to know each other any more.”

“Um,” is all Jeremy can squeak out at first. His heart is screaming  _ yes,  _ but something in him is holding him back, perhaps his fear of judgement. He counters his mind with a  _ So what?  _ Some of Michael’s internet friends were official before any actual dates, and this sort of counts as their first, so… it’s better than them, at least.

Michael clears his throat after a few beats of silence. “Um, you can totally say no if you don’t want to, but…”

“Oh! Oh, damn.” Jeremy straightens up again, eyes widening. “Yeah, dude. Like, of  _ course  _ I’ll be your boyfriend. Is that even a question?”

“Well, I figured I should probably ask,” Michael says, and snickers. He unslings the guitar from his shoulder and sets it on the table, careful not to scratch it, then opens his arms. “C’mere.”

Jeremy barely holds himself back from launching himself at Michael; instead, he lifts himself up onto the table and leans over for a hug. “This is dumb. I’m gay.”

“Is that all you can say?” Michael laughs. “Yes it is, and yes you are. But you’re also cute. Calm down, dude; it’s only me.”

“Yeah, but you’re all romantic now. Were you this way with your ex?” Jeremy asks, pulling away from the hug. He’s achingly aware of all the eyes that are trained on him, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s going to harass them, so that’s a relief.

Michael hums as he contemplates the question. “Y’know, that relationship was less romantic than it was a plug-with-benefits sorta thing. By which I mean, he gave me weed and I kissed him a few times.”

Jeremy nods and brushes off the thought of Michael kissing his weed dealer. It’s not something he wants to think about now, or, well, ever. “Gotcha,” he says. “Well, this is, uh… a lot.” He can’t really find the words to convey what he’s feeling: nervous, excited, happy- most of all, charmed out of his mind.

“Yeah, dude. Is it a good a lot?” Michael asks.

Jeremy nods so hard his neck begins to hurt. “Of course it is, you idiot nerd. This is amazing! It’s just-” As predicted, he flaps his hands a little, looking almost helplessly at Michael. “It’s a lot! It’s a lot.”

Michael gestures for him to come in for another hug. “C’mon.”

Jeremy laughs and allows himself to be taken into Michael’s arms again. “Okay, okay, I’m chill.”

“Good,” Michael says, “‘cuz I’m hungry as hell. Can I have my sandwich now?”

“Oh! God, yeah, absolutely,” Jeremy says, and sits back down on the bench; in a few moments, Michael is seated across from him and digging into his chicken wrap. “I, um… I’m sorta done with my sandwich, so…”

Michael shrugs. “So stare at me lovingly like you were already planning on doing.”

Jeremy scoffs, mock-offended. “I was  _ not  _ planning on doing that!” (He totally was.)

Later that day, as they walk around beneath the trees, holding hands and occasionally stealing kisses, Jeremy muses to himself that Michael is probably the only person on Earth who would still look attractive while eating a chicken wrap.

It’s around four in the afternoon by the time the two of them get going again. Tired out from all the excitement of the day, Jeremy’s reclined his seat and is lounging, nearly asleep, when he hears Michael speak up from the driver’s seat. “You excited to get back tomorrow?”

Jeremy considers the question for a moment. The trip had been fun at times, but overall, it was emotionally exhausting; he longs for the comfort of home. “Yeah, I mean, it’s gonna be good to see Dad and Florence again, and, like, my own bed.” He raises his eyebrows as he adds, “We have so much to talk about- Dad’s gonna lose his mind.”

“Telling your dad is going to be so awesome, oh maaan,” Michael says with a grin.

“He’ll cry! He’ll cry like a baby, just watch. ‘Oh, my two sons dating, this is wonderful!’” Jeremy lovingly imitates his father’s voice.

“Does this mean I’m Florence’s third dad?”

“You have to earn that right, Mell.”

The happy, fuzzy feeling stays with Jeremy for a few minutes, but, as per usual, it doesn’t last. A realization settles in and sticks in the cracks of his brain like tar.

When he’s silent for a few minutes, Michael frowns and asks, “What is it?”

“I mean… I’m gonna have to tell him about mom,” Jeremy answers. “I don’t think he’s gonna be happy about that. He’s always wanted her to talk to him again- or, at least, he did last time I checked.” God, he’s so selfish. How could he just cut her off without thinking about his father’s feelings?

“You did what you had to do,” Michael says. “He had to get over her sometime. ...Was that rude?”

“No, I get it,” Jeremy says, and sighs. “I dunno, I just… should’ve asked him for advice.”

“Too late now,” Michael says, which is clearly supposed to be comforting, but it really isn’t. After a second, he corrects himself with, “I mean, what’s done is done, and besides, would it really be good for him to be in touch with her again? She treated him like shit, just like she did with you. Maybe it’s better this way.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just feel a little guilty. You would too.”

“Probably,” Michael says. “And I get it, but seriously, you gotta let it go. It’ll be good for you guys to move on.”

“Well, yeah, but… I don’t wanna… see him cry,” Jeremy says, voice falling to a mumble.

“Don’t wanna what now?” Michael turns the music down.

“I don’t wanna see him cry,” Jeremy repeats, and worries his lips. “I know the guy- he doesn’t hide his sadness well.” He leaves out the fact that whenever his father cries, he himself cries; he’ll carry that secret to his grave.

“That’s always hard, I get it,” Michael says. “I hate it when my moms cry, too. But it’s gotta happen sometime- it’s like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

Jeremy nods, even though Michael can’t see it. “You’re probably right. I was just… feeling guilty. Logic really isn’t my strong suit- that’s more your thing.”

“It’s not mine, either,” Michael says. “I mean, I spend my hard-earned money on discontinued candy that I never eat and anime figurines that I never take out of the packaging. I wouldn’t call my decisions wise.”

“We all have our vices. Yours just happens to be an obsession with retro stuff and mint condition anime boys.”

“I know I said it first, but you didn’t have to drag me like that,” Michael says. “You really didn’t.”

Jeremy snickers. “LMAO, stop being such a nerd and I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

“Did you just say ‘LMAO’ out loud?” Michael asks. “Oh, my God. Please shut up, Jeremy.”

“LOL.”

“Shut up! Oh, my God!”

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. Well, it never does when you’re sleeping in a car, but it’s particularly difficult this time. The excitement about getting home still lingers in Jeremy’s chest, and he runs his hands through his hair to try to relieve himself of the tightness, grumbling to himself as he does so.

“Dude, go to sleep,” Michael says, yawning as he tries to get comfortable in the backseat. “It’s getting late. Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem,” Jeremy says. He’s too tingly, too full of nervous energy to sleep. “I don’t like big days. I have trouble sleeping before them.”

“Look, there’s nothing to be afraid of. We went over this earlier.”

“It’s not even that, though,” Jeremy says, although the guilt isn’t completely gone; Michael’s assurances are starting to wear off. “A lot is going to be different when we get home. It’s just… aaaaaah.”

“‘Aaaaaah’?” Michael snorts. “Explain ‘aaaaaah’.”

“Like, I’ve been gone for over a week; it’s gonna be weird being at home again and not on the road,” Jeremy explains. “And, like… I’ve got a boyfriend now, dude! That’s huge! My life is changing, and it’s just… a lot to deal with.”

“Yeah, but is it bad? It’s a good change, right?”

“Hell, yeah!” Jeremy says. “This is awesome! It’s… amazing! It’s buck wild, dude; I finally have a boyfriend, and it’s you!”

Michael laughs, propping himself up on his elbows as he looks toward Jeremy, who’s lounging on his leaned-back passenger’s seat. “Oh, my God, I’m your first!”  
“You’re my first!”

“You’re not my first. Whoops.”

“Yeah, dummy, you told me,” Jeremy says. “Your dealer, in junior year.” 

“A fake ID wasn’t all he gave me,” Michael says, smirking as he shoots Jeremy with a singular finger gun.

“You don’t even-”

“By which I mean kisses.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even…!”

Their laughter fills the car for a while, cracking through the silent ice of the night and hurting Jeremy’s stomach a little. They quiet down eventually, though, into a comfortable quiet. Jeremy smiles to himself- how can he be scared about the way the world constantly changes when he’s got Michael by his side? 

It’s around midnight when Jeremy hears a soft snore from the backseat; careful not to wake Michael up, he creeps to the back of the car and crouches down next to him. He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, then presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. “G’night, bud,” he whispers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im finally washing my hands of this fic after two years holy shit. i'm done. i'm done. it's out there. goodbye my child

_ “Don’t hit so hard, bruhddy; you’re gonna puke again.” _

_ Halloween is one of Jeremy’s favorite holidays, his seventeenth being no exception. He takes a deep inhale from Michael’s tie-dye patterned bong, breathing in the sick-sweet smoke and exhaling it into Michael’s face. “No, no, I’ve got th-” He’s struck by a coughing fit, loud and raspy, and he’s half afraid he’ll take ‘hacking up a lung’ to a literal level; desperately, he shoves the bong at Michael, who takes it, then pats him on the back. _

_ “You alright, Jeremy?” he asks, and his voice is a little rough and strained, but not to the extent that Jeremy’s is. _

_ Eyes squeezed shut and pricked by stinging tears, Jeremy nods and croaks, “Yeah, I’m good, I’m good.” He’s not sure why he agrees to smoke with Michael so often, given that his lungs die a little every time, but it’s pretty relaxing- so relaxing, in fact, that he has to ask, “Hey, Michael? I’m kinda tired. Can I just watch while you play?” _

_ Michael’s hooked up his old PlayStation to the TV in his basement, and they’d paused in the middle of a match in their favorite fighting game to let Jeremy take a hit. “You sure?” he asks. “You’re gonna get bored, or forget that you’re not playing it and try to use your controller.” _

_ “Hey, I’ve only done that once!” _

_ “Yeah, try five times,” Michael says, and snorts. “Anyway, I can’t stop you. Wanna watch me do story mode? I’ve been meaning to replay it.” _

_ Jeremy nods, dropping the controller, and Michael puts the match to a premature end, going back to the main menu and navigating to story mode. Jeremy, meanwhile, shifts his beanbag over so it presses against Michael’s; then, inhibitions muted by the high, curls into a fetal position and leans against him- no, it’s more like he snuggles up to him. Sue him, it’s comfortable. _

_ If Michael is bothered by the situation, he doesn’t give any indication. It’s odd- Jeremy was half expecting him to pull away, to be disgusted, although the worries faded away quickly in the weed-induced haze. On the contrary, Michael is actually relaxing under Jeremy’s touch as he routinely gets his ass kicked by the CPU. “Ah, hell,” he mumbles from time to time. “This game sucks.” _

_ Jeremy cracks open one eye, a light smile crossing his face. “Don’t hate the game, man. You’re just high.” _

_ There’s a pause, and Jeremy can practically see the gears turning in Michael’s head. “Yeah, but like… I should still be able to beat it…” He shrugs. “Eh, whatever.” After a few more minutes, he grabs the remote and turns off the TV, then flops back down onto his beanbag and sighs. _

_ Startled by the shift in positions, Jeremy opens his eyes and finds himself face-to-face with Michael. He swallows sharply. _

_ Michael stares at him, an unreadable look in his dark brown eyes, then cracks a smile. “What’s wrong? Did you get spooked?” _

_ “No,” Jeremy replies simply. There’s no hurry in his voice. “No, I’m good.” _

_ “Okay. ...If you wanna stop smoking and just go to bed, that’s alright.” _

_ “No,” Jeremy says again. _

_ “Okay.” _

_ They lie like that for a few minutes, staring hazily at each other between long blinks, before Jeremy opens his mouth to speak again. “Michael, I-” _

_ He’s cut off by a yawn from Michael, who stands up and stretches his arms until something cracks. “I’m actually, like, really sleepy. Let’s go to bed.” _

_ Jeremy swallows again, heart sinking. It wasn’t his plan to confess tonight, but he’d been overcome by the urge to, and he’d gotten rejected before he could even get the words out. Was that a rejection? It sure felt like one. _

_ “...Jeremy?” Michael asks, waving a hand in front of Jeremy’s face. “My buddy? My man?” _

_ Jeremy slaps Michael’s hand weakly away from his face. “Sorry. Zoned out. Still faded.”  _

_ “Me too.” Michael sticks out his hand, waggling his fingers in a beckoning gesture. “C’mere.” _

_ Jeremy takes Michael’s hand and lets him pull him up, then brushes potato chip crumbs from his shirt. Their hands linger in each other’s for a moment- but only a moment. _

_ Then, finally, they go to bed. _

“You really wanna get going, huh?”

Jeremy runs his hand through his hair over and over, still filled to the brim with nervous energy. He’s vibrating with it, and Michael certainly notices. “Oh! Yeah, that’d be great, thanks. We’re only, like, five hours from home, right?”

As Michael crawls over the central console into the driver’s seat, he answers, “Yeah, so we’ll get there at around 4:30 if we stop somewhere for lunch.”

Jeremy nods, tapping his feet on the floor as he bounces his legs, then says, “I just miss Dad and Florence, is all.”

Michael pulls away from where he’d parked on the side of a country road, then says, “I get it, man. I miss the hell out of my moms and cats. But, look on the bright side- we’ll be there in just a few hours.”

With a pang of guilt, it occurs to Jeremy that he’d completely forgotten that Michael would miss his home, too. “Yeah, that’s true. Sorry, I’m being kinda whiny.” He’s been texting his dad, after all, and getting twice-daily pictures of his cat.

“Nah, dude, ‘s all good,” Michael says with a shrug. “I think my problem is that I don’t whine  _ enough.” _

“You’re a pretty chill guy. I think you sucked up all the chill from both of us like a laid-back vampire.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you love vampires.”

“They’re cool!” Jeremy protests. “The fangs? Killer. Uh, literally.”

“Werewolves are better.”

“Anyway,” Jeremy says, “I hope my dad’s doing alright. He gets lonely really easily… I wonder if he misses us.”

“First of all, of course he misses us, especially you,” Michael says. “Secondly, I think that runs in the family a little.”

“Will you stop calling me out?” Jeremy says, and would reach out to swat Michael in the arm if he were slightly more of an idiot. He’s not mad, though, at the accusation- because it’s  _ true- _ and the two fill the car with laughter and teasing until around noon, when Jeremy points out that they haven’t had anything to eat all day.

“There’s a Pizza Hut off the next exit,” Michael says after glancing at the sign on the side of the road. “You want some? We can eat on the road, if you want.”

“Hey, man, I’ll never say no to pizza.”

The clock on the dashboard turns to 4:12 P.M. 

Michael turns the Cruiser onto Jeremy’s street. 

The nervous energy bubbles up again in Jeremy’s chest, pricking like static electricity; he leans forward in his seat, trying to see past the bend in the road, and finally catches sight of his house. It’s a little shoddy, rough around the edges, but it’s home.

Michael glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Damn, you weren’t lying about being excited,” he says with a laugh.

“Man, I miss my bed!” Jeremy says. “I know I talked a lot about Dad and Florence, but dude, I haven’t slept in a proper bed in  _ days.” _

“Yeah, no kidding. My back is killing me.”

Jeremy doesn’t reply to that, because, as Michael says it, he pulls into the Heeres’ driveway, and Jeremy’s already pawing at the buckle of his seat belt. He can see his father through the living room window, and, as the car pulls in, he turns, face brightening ito a smile when he sees his son. Michael puts the car in park, and Jeremy hops out, opening his arms for a hug as his father comes out to greet him. “Dad!” he says. “Dad, hey!”

“Jeremy! Michael!” Jeremy’s father scoops him into a bear hug, dwarfing his slim beanpole of a son. “It’s good to have you boys back.”

“We’ve only been out for, like, half a minute,” Jeremy teases when he can breathe again. “How would you know?”

Michael, who had silently gotten out of the car, flicks Jeremy in the temple and says, “Stop being awful.” To Jeremy’s father, he adds, “Good to be back, sir.”

Jeremy’s father rolls his eyes. “Michael, I’ve known you for, what, almost fourteen years? You can stop calling me ‘sir’ now.”

Michael shrugs. “I like to have respect for my elders, unlike  _ someone  _ here.” He turns to the trunk and makes a move to head over, but Jeremy's father puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him before he can.

“You must be tired from driving this whole time. Let me carry your suitcase in.”

Michael sighs in relief. “Oh, man, thank you. I don’t even wanna look at that car anymore.”

“You said you like driving!” Jeremy says. “Sorry for being a hassle…”

“I mean, I  _ like  _ it, but doing it for four days straight isn’t as fun as it might sound. Worth it, though.” Michael slings an arm around Jeremy’s shoulder and pulls him in close. 

Jeremy laughs, stomach tickled by the light sensation of butterflies that always flares up when Michael touches him. “Well, thanks, man. I couldn’t have done it without you. Like, literally, I can’t drive.”

“Hey, you managed for a little while,” Michael says, and lets Jeremy go so he can grab his suitcase.

“Wait, Jeremy, you drove?” Jeremy’s father raises his eyebrows.

Jeremy laughs weakly. “Yeah, uh… Michael ate some bad sushi from a gas station and got food poisoning, so I had to drive him to Walgreens so he wouldn’t puke all over.”

“He made me throw out my favorite pair of shoes!”

Jeremy’s father grimaces. “Sounds brutal. At least you didn’t get in a crash, though.” He smiles widely at Jeremy. “I’m proud of you.”

Jeremy’s flattered, but a bit embarrassed at the praise, so he hides his face by opening the passenger’s side door and grabbing his backpack. “Thanks,” he says simply.

There’s quiet, then, as Jeremy’s father retreats into the house with Michael’s suitcase. “So, how’re we gonna tell him about… y’know, us?” Jeremy asks. The happiness is beginning to wane, and he’s slipping into nervous territory, which can be a catastrophic place to be. He’d been so excited to break the news, but now that he’s faced with the opportunity, he’s frozen up.

“We could be casual about it,” Michael says. “Y’know, kiss or something, then wait for him to ask about it.”

Jeremy only considers it for half a second before he says, “No way. I’m not kissing in front of my dad.” Too bold by far- plus, he’s never been one for confessions, good or bad. They make his skin crawl 90% of the time. “I dunno, maybe you could tell him.”

“I could do that, but only if you’re sure. If you change your mind, let me know, alright?” Michael asks.

Jeremy answers with a nod and says, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I already have to talk to him about Cheryl; I don’t wanna do all the work, y’know? Plus, you’re, like, freakishly good at lightening the mood.”

Michael discreetly pumps his fist and grins at Jeremy. “I do my best, man. If I didn’t, I think both of us would have gone insane by now. If I’m not dancing and making stupid jokes all the time, I  _ will  _ be consumed by the void.”

Jeremy rubs Michael’s shoulder, and there are no butterflies this time. “Yeah, man, I get it.” The two of them are silent for a moment before Jeremy says, “We should head inside.”

“Right, yeah,” Michael says, and Jeremy goes to grab his suitcase, backpack already slung onto one shoulder. 

It feels like he’s been gone for way more than ten days, Jeremy muses as he touches the mezuzah and steps into the foyer. Still, once he kicks off his shoes and walks into the kitchen, the tension starts to seep off of him; it’s good to have familiar surroundings again. Normally, he would go to find Florence and take her downstairs for a cuddle sesh, but there are more important thing to do right now.

His father’s cheerfulness is slipping a little, and there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes as he pulls out chairs at the kitchen table for the three of them. “So,” he says, “tell me everything.”

Michael excuses himself with a quick, “Uh, I’m gonna go find Florence,” and heads for the living room. It’s not as if he was iced out, but it’s a very Heere issue, so Jeremy can understand why he’s eager to leave.

“I, uh… I guess you’ll wanna hear about the big stuff first, huh,” Jeremy says, voice small in the even-smaller kitchen. He squirms in his seat- he really should’ve come up with a script for this.

His father nods. “I think I should probably know. And… it looks like it didn’t come to a very satisfactory ending.”

Jeremy thinks on that for a long moment. Was it satisfactory? Sort of. He hates to admit it, but he liked the anger and hurt in his mother’s voice. Whether he liked it or not, though, it’s something that had to happen. He’s not stupid. He knows his family’s brokenness is permanent, unmendable. “...I mean, it was alright, but I don’t…” He sighs. “I don’t think she’ll be contacting us again, um, ever.”

Jeremy’s father is silent for a while- a long, long while. Then, he nods and says, “I understand. I shouldn’t have expected anything more from her.” He looks down at his clasped hands for a second, then adds, “Are you alright? What happened?”

Jeremy explains everything: the way Cheryl lives now, how he came out to her and she accepted him, how civil she was at first, how she named her cat named after him. And then… the fight. Her hand on his arm. Her shouting at him and making excuses and trying to deny all the harm she’d caused the two of them over the years. “I don’t think you’re missing out on anything,” he finishes. “She’s… not good. I don’t know if she’s a good person. I don’t think so.”

The sadness in his father’s eyes is crushing. “I see,” he says, words simple despite all the things that must be running through his mind. “Well, it’s not as if she was going to speak to me anyway. Actually, I’m proud of you, Jeremy.” He reaches out to place a hand over one of Jeremy’s.

Jeremy boinks, taken aback. “Proud? But… I ruined your chances of ever talking to her again.”

“Maybe so,” his father says, “but I don’t think I want to after the way she treated you. Nobody who hurts you is worth keeping in my life.”

Jeremy doesn’t quite know what to say to that. It hurts his heart, but in a good way; maybe he  _ is  _ loved more than he thinks. His father was heinously depressed- he took showers, what, once a week? He could barely muster the strength to get dressed, and yet here he was, swearing off his ex-wife in his son’s name. “Thank you,” Jeremy says, guessing at a proper response. “For being understanding, and stuff. I’m sorry.”

His father shakes his head. “Don’t be. You’re right; it’s probably better for me that she’s not around. Better for both of us.”

That brings a relieved smile to Jeremy’s face. “Right. Yeah. You’re right.” He knows this is going to be harder on his father than he says. He knows he might slip into his old depression, maybe not as far, but into it all the same. But he also knows that everything might- no,  _ will-  _ be alright. After all, he’s been there for Jeremy as much as possible through his own depression, through every ounce of bitterness he threw at him and the rest of the world. He’ll bounce back. Jeremy can always trust his father.

There’s silence for a couple more minutes before Michael steps back into the kitchen. He must’ve been waiting for their conversation to end- it couldn’t have taken him that long to find Florence, who’s usually curled up in the sun by the sliding glass back door. “Hey, guys,” he says, slightly subdued, but still having the uncanny ability to brighten whatever room he walks into. “I got our favorite princess!” He holds Florence up to the sky, and she kicks her little legs in distaste.

Jeremy grins and stands up to take the cat from Michael, and she’s clearly delighted to see him; she purrs that sound-barrier-breaking purr of hers and rubs her forehead against his chin before settling into his arms. “Florence!” Jeremy croons. “How’ve you been, baby?” The cat answers with a loud chirp, and Jeremy laughs to himself before pressing a kiss to her furry, blue-grey forehead. 

“We have some good news, too, Mr. Heere,” Michael says, and Jeremy turns to face his father and friend- well, boyfriend. His smile goes wobbly at that thought.

Jeremy's father raises his eyebrows, a smile returning to his face. “Oh?”

“Yeah, uh…” Jeremy chuckles shakily. “Michael and I are, um…”

“We’re dating, Mr. Heere,” Michael finishes for him. “We’re gay and we’re boyfriends and we’re in love. I’m your son now. Congrats!”

As Jeremy chuckles at Michael’s bluntness, the smile on his father’s face turns into a grin. “Oh, my God, that’s amazing!” he says, and gets up to hug Michael tight, then Jeremy. Florence squeaks as she’s squished between the two of them. “Jeremy’s been gushing about you for a whole year and a half now. I was wondering when you two were going to do something about it. You think I didn’t notice the way you act around each other?”

Jeremy goes red at that, and he’s almost shocked to see that Michael does, too. “Was I really that obvious?” Michael asks. “I thought maybe I was being subtle.”

Jeremy’s father shakes his head. “Michael, you’re like a second son to me; of course I realized when you started putting the moves on Jeremy.”

Michael pauses, thinking for a second. “...Was I good at it?”

With another shake of his head, Jeremy’s father says, “I don’t think your cheesy pickup lines work very well on him.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeremy says. “You were actually hitting on me with that stuff? ‘The library self-service machines aren’t working, but I’m still checking you out?’ I thought you were just kidding around.”

“I don’t know! I thought it would work,” Michael says, shuffling his feet. “But you seemed to think it was funny.”

“Oh, my God, and I told you to send them to that guy you followed last year because he was hot. You were hitting on me and I told you to say it to another guy.”

“There’s a reason your blog title is ‘Useless Bisexual’,” Michael points out.

Before Jeremy can tease Michael back, as teenage best-friends-turned-boyfriends do pretty much all the time, Jeremy’s father, says, “This is incredible, you two! We have to celebrate this, right?”

Oh, wow. That certainly wasn’t what Jeremy had expected. Shyly, he says, “I guess we can. What did you have in mind for, um, celebrating?”

“Well… your birthday is in a few weeks,” his father says. “I should get to work practicing my baking skills. Those ice cream cakes from Dairy Queen are a little expensive.”

Jeremy laughs a little at that. “Dad, you don’t have to bake us a cake just because-”

“Don’t listen to him, Mr. Heere,” Michael interrupts. “I, for one, would absolutely love a cake right about now.”

“I’m on it,” Jeremy’s father says, saluting as if he’s in the military instead of working at home as a customer service rep, and edges past the two of them to the cupboard. After a couple seconds, he turns back around and gestures for Jeremy and Michael to come over. “Well?”

The two boys look at each other for a couple seconds before it occurs to Jeremy what his father wants, and he grins. “Oh! Yeah, of course we’ll help.” (Jeremy is fully aware that Michael would kick his ass at baking a cake any day, but this isn’t a competition.)

In a few minutes, the counter is covered with foodstuffs and plastic cups and Jeremy’s father’s recipe book, and, as Jeremy’s father goes to preheat the oven, Michael taps Jeremy on the shoulder and threads his fingers through the spaces between his. “Hey, Jeremy?” he asks, quietly, so that Jeremy’s father can’t hear them. “Is everything alright now?”

Jeremy remains silent. He thinks, and he thinks, and he  _ thinks.  _ He thinks for a long, long time. His mother is out of his life, sliced clean off as if he were a surgeon performing a lumpectomy. The anger that he felt, the scorching bitterness, is still there, but it’s lifting with every minute, and maybe by the time he’s ready to start a family, he can atone for the things his mother passed onto him. He’s burned a bridge, and that fire still sears his chest, and he knows that it’ll probably keep him up at night and that he’ll probably have some regrets and that maybe,  _ maybe,  _ when he’s much older, he’ll miss his mother. He won’t be inviting her to his college graduation or to his wedding. He won’t invite her to his children’s birthday parties.

But he’s satisfied.

Jeremy doesn’t need a mother. He doesn’t need someone who berates him, who mistreats him and his father, who refuses to acknowledge the pain that courses through him every day like an injection from the needle of his ruined, rocky childhood. That’s the simple truth of it: _ he doesn’t need her.  _ He has a fantastic father who loves every inch of his mentally screwed, socially inept, painfully bisexual son; he has a best friend- his boyfriend, now- who’s been with him for a long, long time and will probably be with him for the rest of his life; he has a cat who yells at him to hold her and makes him sneeze with her soft fur; and they all love him dearly, and that makes up for it. That could make up for anything.

So, yeah, everything’s alright. Jeremy’s all kinds of messed up, but he’ll get through it, because he’s in charge of his own life now, and nothing about his past is going to hold him back, ‘cuz he’s not gonna let it.

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing Michael’s hand, “everything’s alright now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love you!
> 
> UPDATE:   
My wonderful friend Manti did some amazing art for this first chapter <3 Go appreciate him!!: https://mantidays.tumblr.com/post/188378420981/u-know-i-had-to-do-art-for-it-hablerie-33


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